Abby shifted positions on the settee, hoping to alleviate some of the pain in her lower back. “How about a compromise, Pru?” she suggested.
Both Prudence and her dog seemed to perk up at this.
“If I agree to go with you to London, you must agree to be only my friend, not my matchmaker.”
Prudence frowned, obviously not liking that particular compromise. Sophia, on the other hand, thought it a great plan.
“That’s brilliant, Abby,” she said. “Why didn’t I think to suggest the same?”
“Because you are going to London whether you like it or not,” said Prudence to her sister.
“Perhaps I should contract rheumatic fever again so that I might stay home,” Sophia teased, her hazel eyes twinkling.
“Don’t even jest about such things,” said her sister. “You are not allowed to become that ill ever again. Understood?”
“Only if you promise not to—”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” said Prudence crossly. “I shall see you both happily situated one day, and that is that.”
Abby should have known her friend would never capitulate. Meddling was too ingrained in her, especially when it came to love. She was a romantic at heart and always would be, and she would not rest until her sister and friend found their own Lord Knaves.
Abby shifted again, wishing she could find a position that offered some comfort. Perhaps a pillow would help? She spotted one on the floor near her feet and leaned to the side to snag it, but something strange happened. She felt a small pop inside of her, like a bubble that had been poked, followed by a rush of warm liquid between her legs. It took her a moment to realize what had occurred—the doctor had warned something of this nature could happen—but she still felt unprepared. She froze, excitement and fear rippling through her like rivulets in the sea.
It was time.
She looked at her friend and prayed the quiver in her voice would not give her away. “What about a wager instead, Pru? If the babe arrives by the day’s end, you must promise to cease your matchmaking efforts for both Sophia and me.”
Prudence’s expression became suspicious, but she eventually nodded. “Only if you agree that if the child does not come today, you will allow me to matchmake to my heart’s content.”
Abby had no idea how long it took for a babe to arrive beyond this point, but it was still early in the day. Surely it would come before nightfall. Her stomach cramped ever so slightly—another sign the doctor had told her to expect when the time of delivery neared.
“Agreed,” Abby said quickly. “Now, if you’d be so kind as to send for the doctor, Sophia, I’d be most grateful. And Pru, would you help me to my room, please? I should like to escape the drawing room before I leave a larger puddle on your furniture.”
A moment of stunned silence followed this pronouncement before the sisters became a flurry of excitement. Sophia practically ran from the room, presumably to send for the doctor, and Prudence shouted for someone to assist her. A footman came rushing in, and the two helped Abby back to her room. Not long after that, the cramping began to worsen.
By the time the doctor arrived, Abby decided that she’d rather remain swollen and short of breath than suffer through the pain of childbirth. Her lower back screamed in agony every time a pain came on, and the disobliging doctor said she had a ways to go yet.
Much to her torment, the child did not arrive until the wee hours of the following morning. By that point, Abby was too exhausted to care about her agreement with Prudence. All she wanted to do was see her baby and sleep.
The doctor gently wrapped a crying, wriggly babe in a quilt and laid it in Abby’s arms, saying quietly, “Congratulations, Lady Jasper. You have a daughter.”
Her heart plummeted at the news, but one look at her beautiful baby girl, and Abby adored her instantly. So tiny, innocent, and precious.
How could she possibly regret such a gift?
FOUR COACHES WERE required to carry the party from Lynfield to London. Prudence and Knave rode with Prudence’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Gifford, while Abby sat with her baby, lady’s maid, nurse, and Sophia. The last two carriages held the other ladies’ maids and valets. Knave’s father, Lord Bradden, was recovering from a bout of pneumonia, so he and Lady Bradden had chosen to remain at home for the season.
Only a few hours into their journey, Abby worried that Sophia regretted her decision to accompany her. Little Anne had been crying for nearly an hour. She’d been passed from Abby to the nurse to her lady’s maid and back to Abby, but no amount of cooing or jostling would shush her.
“What the devil is the matter, Anne?” Abby finally spoke her frustration. “You’ve been fed, changed, and coddled. We’ve even tried singing to you, but you don’t seem to care for that either. So what is it? Are you hoping to ride with our coachman? Is that it? Because I’m nearly ready to put you up with him.”
Nurse Lovell stared at her in alarm while Sophia chuckled and held out her arms. “Let me have a go.”
Abby felt some remorse handing over a screaming child, but if Sophia could soothe distraught animals, perhaps she could soothe a babe as well. Abby could only pray that would be the case. They were probably all praying, even the coachman, who could undoubtedly hear Anne’s wails over the crunch of pebbles on the road.
It took Sophia all of five minutes to get her asleep.
“However did you do that?” Abby asked in awe.
“You’re a wonder, Miss,” added the nurse, her round face a mixture of amazement and relief. She wiped away the perspiration from her forehead with her sleeve and relaxed against the back of the cushions. It was a chilly, March morning, but with five bodies inside the coach and warm bricks near their feet, they were all cozy.
“She was simply tired,” said Sophia in her unassuming way. “She would have probably fallen asleep in your arms as well, given a few more minutes.”
Abby seriously doubted that. She nearly asked Sophia if she’d be willing to instruct her nurse how to soothe babies, but she figured the woman might take offense to that. Nurse Lovell was a dear, and seemed to genuinely adore Anne, but whenever the child became upset, which was quite often, so did the nurse. It was something Abby hoped would subside in time.
Not long after Anne quieted, Evie and Nurse Lovell nodded off as well. Abby could hardly blame them. It had been a trying morning, and she longed to join them, but she couldn’t bring herself to do so while Sophia cared for her child.
“It seems you have a knack for children as well as animals,” said Abby softly, not wanting to wake Anne.
Sophia grinned. “If that’s the case, it’s a shame I may never have any of my own.” No matter her circumstances, she always maintained her sense of humor—something Abby admired about her.
“I’ll just have to be the doting aunt to little Anne and Prudence’s future children. Such a trial that will be.” She snuggled Anne closer and kissed her cheek, looking perfectly happy.
Abby couldn’t resist resting her head against the side of the coach. She’d removed her bonnet hours ago and could feel her hair frizz around her face. “I would love that above all things, Soph, but you know as well as I that Prudence would never stand for it. She will see you married before the season is out, mark my words.”
“You said that same thing at the beginning of last season as well, yet here I am, still unattached.”
Abby studied her friend’s profile. Her kind smile, bright eyes, and hair a ghastly shade of red. Few would call Sophia a beauty, but she was beautiful. She just needed to find someone who could look beyond her freckles and wide-set eyes. Abby hoped she would find such a man one day. If anyone deserved marital bliss, it was her friend.
Abby looked out the window at the rolling hills that would soon be covered in colorful blossoms and shades of green. Oxfordshire was lovely in the spring. It was her favorite time of year.
“You, on the other hand, will have no problem securing a husband,” said Sophia. “You were one of the mo
st sought after debutantes last season, and now you’re returning as a stunning, independent widow. The men are going to flock about you.”
Abby didn’t want men to flock about her. She only wanted one. “I am still in half mourning and have no interest in marrying again anytime soon.”
Sophia tilted her head, her expression contemplative and curious. “Did you love Lord Jasper? I know he rescued you and this little one, so he certainly earned your regard in that respect, but… did you love him? You need not answer if you’d rather not.”
Abby hesitated. She’d been open with her friends about the events leading up to her marriage, but she’d done so without betraying her feelings for Jasper or his brother. They hadn’t prodded her for more, at least not until now, though Sophia could never be accused of prying.
There was a reason Abby hadn’t been forthcoming with her feelings for Brigston. If Prudence ever learned that her closest friend had already lost her heart, she’d stop at nothing to get them together. The law, the risks, his title and obligations—Prudence would disregard it all, or at least attempt to do so, just as Abby had done once upon a time.
Sophia, on the other hand, was not like her sister. She could be counted upon not to interfere, and she could be trusted to keep this conversation between them.
“I did love Jasper,” Abby admitted, “but not in the way Prudence believes a wife should love her husband, although I desperately wish I could have. He saved me and Anne from a fate worse than death, only to lose his life in the bargain. How could I not love him for that? I will always honor his memory, I’ll raise Anne to know the sort of man her father was, and I will fully mourn his death. But if I am being completely honest, I have since lost my heart to another.”
Sophia’s eyes widened in surprise. She glanced briefly at the two servants, probably to assure herself they were still asleep, before looking back at Abby.
“Who?” She asked the question so quietly that Abby read her lips more than heard the words.
Abby swallowed, despising the emotion threatening to rise within her. It had been over five months since she’d seen or spoken of him out loud. Would she never move beyond this?
“A man I can never have,” said Abby woodenly. “Jasper’s brother and now mine.”
THE HACKNEY HIT a rut, jostling Morgan as he returned to his townhouse after a lengthy parliament session, which included a heated debate about the need for improved working conditions in cotton mills, particularly with regard to the children. It had begun at four o’clock that afternoon and lasted nearly six hours.
He couldn’t fathom why anyone would oppose passing a law that prevented mills from working children more than ten hours a day, but there had been plenty of opposition. It made him ill just picturing children toiling for that long, their hands raw, bodies weary, and lungs filled with cotton. He’d wanted to demand that children not be allowed to work at all, but families relied on that income, and if their children ceased working, they ceased eating. So he’d sided with those in favor of reducing the hours and bettering the conditions as much as possible.
Discussions like this took everything out of him. Sometimes he wondered how long he could continue trying to promote change when change was so slow to happen. But ignoring the problems, like many of his peers preferred to do, wasn’t an option for him. Despite the exhaustion and frustration, Morgan would continue to fight for those who could not fight for themselves.
The hackney pulled to a stop in front of his townhouse on Brooks Street in Mayfair. As he looked up at the impressive, four-story edifice, he wondered, not for the first time, why he had so much while others had nothing. It was that feeling of guilt that carried him to London each season for the interminable parliament sessions.
He exited the hackney, wanting nothing more than to relax with a strong drink and a book, but alas, he’d promised his mother they’d attend Lady Campshire’s soirée that evening. They were going to be fashionably late, as was usual after a parliament session, but that would not matter to his mother. She only wanted to forget her struggles for a time among the whirl of the ton.
Morgan carried himself up to his room, where he washed the grime and sweat from his body in a quick bath. He dressed in a manner befitting a marquess and mentally prepared himself for hours of tedious conversation. Lady Campshire’s parties were always a crush.
He tried his best to dismiss the harrowing day from his mind as he went to collect his mother, who’d waited patiently in the drawing room. Now that she was officially out of mourning, she wore a smart sapphire gown and appeared almost like her old, radiant self. It was good to see, and by the time they arrived at the soirée, his mood had lifted, as had his appetite. He hoped they hadn’t missed dinner because he was suddenly ravenous.
“Do try to be sociable this evening,” said his mother as they ascended the stairs to the house.
“I’m always sociable,” answered Morgan. Coming to London early had been the right decision even though there had been precious few social activities in the beginning. The change of scenery had done them both good.
“I disagree,” said his mother. “You speak only to those you wish to speak with and ignore all others, looking either bored or aloof.”
“I often am bored.”
“That may be, but you don’t have to look it.”
They crossed over the threshold into the house, and Morgan helped her with her coat. “If it would please you, I shall do my utmost to be congenial, charming, and engaged this evening. But if anyone should ask me which neckcloth looks more distinguished or what I think about Sally Jersey’s new coiffure, I shall reciprocate by recounting the details of today’s discussion in the House of Lords. If I cannot appear bored, I shall be boring.”
They approached their hostess, and his mother offered her a wide smile. “Lady Campshire, how lovely you look this evening.”
And so it began. Morgan took the lady’s hand and bowed over it, offering a charming and obligatory lie. “Every time we meet, you look younger than the last. Pray tell, what is your secret?”
Lady Campshire simpered and smiled and flirtatiously tapped his shoulder with her fan. “What nonsense, my lord.”
Utter nonsense, he agreed inwardly. Outwardly, he said, “Not at all.”
This earned him a delighted titter from his hostess, along with a look from his mother that said, You’re doing it a bit too brown.
He had to stifle his answering smile and took his mother by the elbow instead, planning to lead her into the room, but Lady Campshire waylaid him with a hand on his arm.
“Tell me, Lord Brigston, why is it that you and your mother accepted my invitation for this evening while your sister did not?”
Morgan stiffened and looked back at her. “Sister?”
“Lady Jasper, of course. Who else would I be referring to?” She tittered again.
“Lady Jasper is not in London.”
Her eyes widened in a gleeful way, as though she was happy to share a juicy bit of gossip. “She arrived last week with Lord and Lady Knave. I thought you, of all people, would have been made aware. I hear her daughter is quite the angel.”
Abby? Here? In London? Morgan’s heart seemed to stop abruptly before starting again with a stutter. She’d had a girl.
No.
He tried not to show an outward reaction but all he could think was, A girl. The words thudded through his mind like the pounding of a gavel in parliament. His heir was still his mangy cousin, Markus.
His mother came to his rescue, leaning across him with a ready fib. “What he means to say is that we were not aware she had arrived so soon. We expected her next week. And the child is an angel. You must stop by and see for yourself sometime. Oh, look, here’s Mr. and Mrs. Linton. How wonderful to see you both.” His mother effectively redirected Lady Campshire’s attention to the next guests in line, allowing her and Morgan to get away.
Morgan followed, feeling like he’d just taken a surprise jab to the face.
La
dy Campshire had to be mistaken. She couldn’t possibly know with certainty that—
Why did his mother not appear more surprised? He waited for her to finish greeting someone before pulling her aside. “Did you know?”
“I only learned about it this afternoon,” she said.
“And you didn’t see fit to tell me?” The moment the question came out, he heard his own hypocrisy. She’d asked him a similar question not so long ago.
Under her breath, she said, “I was hoping we could make it through this evening before I broke the news. I’d rather you appear bored than brooding.” She smiled and nodded at another acquaintance before giving him a stern look. “We will discuss this later.”
His mother had been right to worry about his reaction. For the remainder of the evening Morgan spoke only when spoken to and kept his responses short and clipped. By the time his mother pronounced she was ready to depart, he stood alone in a corner, having driven away even the most gregarious members of the ton.
“IF YOU THINK Mr. Wallace is a good fit for Sophia, we should put Mr. Rend in her path as well,” said Knave in a wry voice to his wife. He, Abby, and Prudence were seated in the drawing room during their at home hours, awaiting callers. Sophia had gone with her mother for a fitting at the modiste, and Mr. Gifford had escaped to White’s, leaving Abby and Knave to rein in Prudence’s matchmaking attempts.
So far, it wasn’t working.
Prudence made a face, and Abby laughed, enjoying their banter.
“Mr. Rend is a dreadful bore,” said Prudence.
“As is Mr. Wallace,” answered her husband.
“But he loves animals, and Sophia seemed to enjoy her discussion with him at the musicale last evening.”
Abby grimaced when she thought of the previous night. The myriad of musical numbers, many of which were on par with her own mediocre talents, had dragged on and on. It had been a long evening.
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