He felt a smile tickle his lips when he recalled his first words to her. “My, but are we not peppery on this fine evening!”
The words, such a fine description of Abigail in her state of vexation, had annoyed her beyond description. He held back a chuckle.
His jaw tightened when he recalled the second time he’d seen Abigail. She had transformed from a fireball to a pale figure, collapsed from cold, fright, and perhaps not a small bit of humiliation. He was glad. Yes, glad that Henry Hanover hadn’t met her. If he had. . .
Tedric didn’t want to think about it. He preferred to dwell on Abigail’s stay with him at the estate. Sometimes, when he watched her go about her duties, he could almost pretend. . .
No! His fantasies were wrong. Wrong. He could never have Abigail. Not now, not ever.
Tedric had already slipped by defending Abigail too strongly during his conversation with Cecil. That would never happen again. He would control his tongue with all the willpower he possessed. If anyone uttered a word against Abigail, Cecil would have to defend her honor. That would be his duty as her husband, after all.
Not only would Tedric remain mute, he would play the role of dutiful brother to Cecil and future brother-in-law to Abigail for the next few months. He would do anything and everything in his power to ensure the success of their wedding. He would host prenuptial parties and even help Cecil with honeymoon arrangements. His performance would be flawless.
No one would ever know. No one would ever suspect that he loved her.
A silent petition popped into his mind. Father in heaven, forgive me. I am already on the brink of sin. Do not allow me to covet my brother’s wife. I beg of You, save me from myself.
So intense was Tedric’s prayer that he uttered the last thought aloud, disturbing his sleeping brother.
“Huh? What was that?” Cecil murmured.
“Nothing. Just a morning prayer.”
There. At least he wasn’t a liar too.
Tedric looked out the small window. Only a few more miles, and they would be home. Home. After the wedding, he wouldn’t be able to call the estate “home.” The day after the nuptials, Tedric would leave for London. Perhaps he would buy a town house there. Perhaps when a beautiful woman looked his way, he would return the favor.
He could only hope and pray. Pray that the miles between him and Abigail would be enough to make him forget.
Fifteen
The night had come! The night Abigail was to see Tedric once more. The night that he would arrive to set the date of the wedding!
Griselda’s admonitions about Tedric’s adventures in London had upset her, but Abigail yearned for Tedric all the same. How she longed to see him again, to hear his voice, to be close enough to breathe his masculine scent. That very evening, it would happen. She would be in his presence once more!
“Why am I so eager?” she muttered. “He does not love me.”
“Father in heaven,” she prayed, “why did You choose to place me in a marriage of unrequited love? How can I escape such a fate?
The answer came swiftly.
You do not need to escape.
A knock on the door interrupted her petition. Surely her visitor was Missy. “Come in.”
The maid entered and dropped a curtsy. “Are ye ready for me to dress yer hair, M’lady?”
Abigail nodded.
“I’ll be curlin’ it special tonight.” Missy’s bouncing movements betrayed her excitement.
“Are you happy for me or at the prospect of leaving here soon?” Abigail couldn’t resist asking.
“I’m happy fer ye.” Missy paused. “And I look forward to leavin’ here, I do. The weddin’ will take place soon, I’m hopin’.”
“When my new brother or sister is a half year old.”
“That long, eh?”
“I shall need time to plan.”
“I know yer weddin’ day will be the talk of the parish. Not to mention all yer prenuptial celebrations.”
“Quite a different story from the first time I tried to marry,” Abigail quipped.
“Well, everyone who knows yer family is expectin’ a big show.” Missy perfected a ringlet and viewed Abigail’s reflection in the mirror. “Ye’ll make the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen, ye will.”
“Thank you, although I do not believe a word of your flattery.”
“What dress will ye be wearin’ tonight?”
“Your favorite. The rose-colored one.”
“The one with the darin’ neckline? My, but ye must be wantin’ to impress him.”
Abigail saw herself blush in the mirror. “I have some lace that will fill the neckline in nicely.”
“’Tis a pity, that is.”
“Missy, you are quite naughty.” Abigail couldn’t stifle a giggle.
An hour passed as Missy and Abigail readied her to see her beloved. Satisfied that she looked her best and that enough pleasant lavender toilette water wafted from her skin, Abigail dismissed her maid.
For a moment, she almost wished she hadn’t. When would Tedric arrive? If only Missy were still with her. They could talk about the weather, the garden, anything. She would be willing to broach any subject to pass the time.
Abigail realized that idle chitchat was not what the Lord wanted. Rather, she felt led to meditate upon His plans for her.
But to what end? No matter how much she prayed, Abigail failed to understand why the Lord willed her to have a husband who didn’t love her. She knew she wasn’t the only member of the aristocracy to marry for reasons other than love. Her father’s concern was to combine the two families’ lineage and fortunes. Her happiness was secondary, and she knew it. Yet happiness was just within her grasp. If only Tedric could love her!
If the Lord has willed me to spend the rest of my life serving a man who doesn’t love me, I—
Abigail shuddered. She could never follow Griselda’s unthinkable suggestion that she take a lover. Besides, if marital duties were so hideous, why would any woman seek out yet another man? None of Griselda’s hints or advice made any sense to Abigail. Her conscience, satisfied that she would keep God’s commandments, asked her another question: So what will you do?
I will love him and show him my love nevertheless. Maybe then he will come to love me. Maybe even with as much fervor as I love him!
How do I begin, Lord?
As always when she contemplated the solution to a dilemma, Abigail looked to her Bible. She knew many of the verses about love, but decided to turn to one of the most well known passages, the thirteenth chapter of 1 Corinthians: “Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, Doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil.”
How could she be so generous with Tedric, a man who sought comfort in gaming halls and, even worse, in the arms of other women?
The hinges of her bedchamber door creaked. Abigail jumped and clutched her hand to her chest at once.
“Did I frighten you?”
She turned to her visitor. “Griselda! Yes, you did.” Since Abigail and her stepmother had become closer, Abigail had been permitted to call her stepmother by her Christian name.
“I beg your pardon. I did not realize you were in deep contemplation.” She observed Abigail’s frock. “I see you are wearing one of my favorite old dresses.”
Abigail nodded.
“It looks well on you. I confess, I was feeling a bit guilty about not having a new gown made for you to wear upon this occasion. Yet now that I see how my dress compliments you, I believe you could not have worn better.”
“Thank you.”
Griselda’s attention turned to the open Bible. “Consulting Scripture, I see. Are you anxious?”
“Would you not be if you were in my position?”
Griselda nodded. “That is why I came here to see you.” She waddled to the side of Abigail’s bed and patted the space on the high bed where Abigail sat. “May
I?”
Abigail nodded. “Unless the vanity chair is more comfortable.”
Griselda studied the seat. “Perhaps that might be more prudent, given I would have to climb onto your bed,” she answered with an oblique reference to her advanced state of expectancy.
“Why did you want to see me now?” Abigail asked as she watched Griselda situate herself in the chair.
“I wanted to see if you were feeling better about your impending marriage since we last talked.”
“Does it matter? I shall be married whether I like it or not.”
“I know this must be hard for you, Abigail. I always knew you were the idealistic one, but I never realized how blind you were to the facts of arranged marriages. If you had been born to parents of another class, you might enjoy the luxury of marrying for love. After all, what does a scullery maid care about money? Her chances of marrying an heir to a fortune or even a title are nonexistent.” Griselda leaned toward her. “You would not really want that for yourself, would you?”
Abigail thought about Missy. “At least Missy’s beau sees her every day.”
Griselda leaned back. “Do you mean that stable boy at the Suttons’? What did you say his name is. . .Jack?”
“Yes. He is the one she loves. And I cannot say that I blame her. He cuts quite a fine figure, and she says she loves to run her fingers through his red curls.” Abigail felt herself blush, no doubt as red as Jack’s locks. She should have never betrayed what Missy had shared in confidence. “Please do not mention that I let slip what she told me.”
“As if I had not already heard her talking to Mattie about her illicit union.”
“Illicit union? Why,” Abigail huffed, “Missy would never do such a thing!”
“That is not your concern, unless she should become in a family way.”
“Griselda! How could you suggest such a thing?”
“Never mind that.” Griselda patted Abigail’s hand. “The fact of the matter is, what does any stable boy have to offer a woman? A lifetime of toil and the smell of manure hanging about him, that is what.” Griselda shrugged. “Not that she, as a member of her class, can do better.”
“But if he loves her. . .”
“I suppose he could love you too, if he thought he could get his hands on a fortune and ensure that his children are heirs to titles.”
“What are you saying?” Abigail asked.
“I am saying love means very little within good marriages.”
“Do you mean that you do not love my father or that you have a bad marriage?”
“I have grown quite fond of your father over the years we have been married.”
“Only quite fond? Is that all the emotion you can muster?” Abigail shook her head. “How sad for Father.”
“How sad for me.” Griselda, usually direct, looked down at her knees. “I can never compete with your mother or even with you.”
“Griselda! You never compete with me. And Mother is with the Lord in heaven. She would not wish for you and Father to have an unhappy union.” How Abigail managed to express such comfort toward her difficult stepmother, she would never know. Perhaps the Lord was working in her already.
“Thank you,” Griselda whispered.
At that moment, Abigail understood more about her stepmother than she ever had. All the insults, all the harsh words had been spoken out of insecurity.
“And I am certain,” Griselda was saying, “that you will grow fond of Lord Sutton as time passes. Wait and see.”
“But I don’t want to be fond of my husband. I want to love him with all my heart. He should be second only to God.”
“You either have your head in the clouds or in the Bible too much, my dear.”
“Really? Must life be this way, Griselda?” Abigail felt unwanted tears threaten.
“Maybe not.” Griselda let out an audible sigh. “I can see that you feel your situation is quite hopeless. I know I should not make such an offer, but I will.” She paused. “Do you want me to speak to your father, Abigail? Perhaps he can find another eligible bachelor.” Griselda’s eyebrows rose in sudden delight. “Someone with an even larger fortune?”
Abigail knew that Griselda meant well in her sympathy, but her tongue displayed all too well her greed.
“Thank you, but no.” She paused. “And thank you for talking to me. Your words have given me the resolve I need.”
“Resolve? To do what? To demand that the wedding be called off?” Griselda’s eyes took on a light of fear.
“No. The resolve to live my life as God sees fit, no matter what that may mean.”
A knock on the door interrupted.
“Yes?” Abigail called.
Missy entered and curtsied. “Your betrothed has arrived, M’lady. Your father requests yer presence in the parlor.”
“Thank you.” Abigail’s heart suddenly felt as though it would beat its way through the rose-colored gown. She sent Griselda an imploring look. “Will you come with me?”
“I am afraid not.” Griselda nodded toward her belly, indicating that she should not enter the presence of a stranger in her condition.
“I beg pardon,” Abigail apologized. “My mind is elsewhere.”
“You are understandably nervous.”
Griselda extended her hand. Abigail accepted the gesture and allowed her stepmother to give her hand a small squeeze. “All will be well,” Griselda assured her. “I just know it.”
Abigail sent her a weak smile. “Will you pray with me?”
Griselda nodded. “Would you like for me to say the prayer?”
“Would you?”
Griselda bowed her head, and Abigail followed suit.
“Father in Heaven,” Griselda petitioned, “be with Abigail as she meets with her betrothed. Bless them as they plan their wedding. Be with them always in their life together. We ask for Your will, amen.”
“Thank you.” Abigail did what would have been unthinkable only a month before. She leaned over and embraced Griselda. When they broke their hold on each other, Abigail felt a teardrop in her eye.
“Now, now. Do not cry. You do not want Lord Sutton to see you with your face all red and puffed, do you?”
Abigail shook her head and grabbed the kerchief lying on top of her dresser. After wiping her eyes, she looked in the mirror and decided she looked well enough to see Tedric again. All the same, she looked to Griselda for final approval.
“You look well now.” Griselda’s smile was bittersweet. “Good luck.”
Feeling as though she needed much more than luck, Abigail was not so cheerful as she descended the stairs. Her nerves were in such a state that she felt as though her entire body would shake enough to invite comment.
If only he had written, maybe I wouldn’t feel so insecure, so vexed, and so weak-kneed.
Helpless to remedy the past, Abigail had no choice. She stepped through the foyer and headed for the parlor to her future, the one that would begin that night.
Abigail tarried in the entrance. Her gaze fell to the fire, the center of any room on a chilly night in early spring. Her father stood in front of the fireplace, talking with a gentleman she did not know. The man looked as though he might have been handsome a decade ago, but his hair was thinning and he sported a paunch that suggested he had consumed too much rich food and had adventured through a high life over the years. Noting pasty skin, she wondered if he ever submitted himself to the out of doors.
After considering his appearance, she mulled over the possible identities of this man in her mind. Abigail could only conclude that he was Tedric’s London solicitor.
At that moment, he threw back his head and laughed with enough uproar to fill the room. Father joined in whatever amusement they shared, though his response was a refined chuckle. Abigail noted the glass of wine in the stranger’s hand. Perhaps intoxication caused every joke to be more amusing to the solicitor than when he was sober.
Abigail held back a grimace. Where was Tedric? She scanned the room
and spotted him alone in a far corner. His fingers held a small statue of Venus that her parents had purchased on their long-ago honeymoon. Her heart felt as though it jumped into her throat and fell back to her stomach. Was Tedric just as anxious as she? Perhaps that explained why he sequestered himself away from the other men.
“There you are, Abigail!” Father motioned for her to come to his side.
She nodded to her father and then set her gaze upon Tedric. Tedric! She never thought it possible that he could look more charming and handsome in person than in her imagination, but he had managed to achieve the feat.
Abigail eyed him in a way that she knew expressed her naked emotions. She watched for the look of love she longed for and anticipated in return.
“How do you do, Miss Pettigrew?”
“How do you do,” Abigail managed to sputter.
She watched as Tedric bowed his head toward the statue in his hands and continued to study it as though he were assigned to memorize its every detail.
Abigail composed her mouth into a straight line and kept her eyes unblinking. Surely Father would not object to her betrothed greeting her with a bit less formality. So why didn’t he? What game was Tedric playing? Why did he torture her so? “Where is the butler?” Father wondered aloud. “He should have returned with the wine by now.”
“He is certainly slow about it.” Emphasizing his point, the strange man reached for the open bottle on the sidebar and poured the remainder of its contents into his empty glass.
“Never mind. I am certain he will be returning shortly.” Father smiled at her. “Abigail, you are here now and I can make the introductions.”
Abigail sent her gaze to Tedric’s corner and waited for him to step forward while Father introduced the solicitor, but he did not. Reticence seemed to have struck Tedric cold. Perhaps he would relax once they had dispensed with formalities.
Hopeful, she returned her attention to Father. His eyes gleamed with the pride she often saw in his face. Did she see a touch of mist as well?
He looked at the man standing beside him. “Sutton, this is my daughter, Abigail Pettigrew.”
The man responded by looking her up and down. Unmistakable lust filled his expression. At that moment she regretted wearing the rose-colored dress, despite the modest lace that covered her throat.
Light Among Shadows Page 13
