by Fiona Miers
She had spent the entire morning mulling over her thoughts of the previous day. The cold manner in which James had handed her over to the duchess. Who, if she were honest, was a lovely woman, especially for one so titled. But at the time, it had felt as though James could not wait to shed himself of her.
Emma had gone to a great deal of trouble to arrange for a replacement gown for Abigail, and even requested two maids to assist her in removing her wet dress and dressing in the dry one. The maidservants dried her hair, brushed it and made her look more than simply presentable. For a short while, she felt important and cared for.
As soon as she had stepped into the ballroom dressed in one of the duchess’ gowns, she felt as though as she were reliving the past once again.
The guests glared at her with judgmental stares and it made Abigail terribly uncomfortable, even to the point where she wished to jump into the water of the lake and submerge herself for eternity.
As soon as the whispers began, Abigail realized that she could no longer pretend that it did not bother her, although she kept those thoughts to herself.
Luckily, Julia had found her and stayed with her. She did not tell Julia what had passed between her and James in the folly, but she was certain that tales had already begun to make their rounds inside the ballroom. Julia most certainly knew as well.
When she had eventually spotted James enter the room, dressed in a dark shirt and matching trousers, her heart had skipped a beat, despite the nagging disappointment inside her.
But what did she have if she did not have hope?
That shred of hope was shattered when James had avoided her gaze and pretended she was not even present in the ballroom. That moment was so much worse than she had expected.
If felt as though a dagger had been slid into her chest and it stung with every breath she took.
Her melancholy thoughts were interrupted by a coach passing by on the street, and she expelled a loud and miserable sigh.
What on earth had she been thinking?
She was naive to even imagine that a man such as James would want anything more than a liaison with a someone like her – a damaged and scorned woman. It did not surprise her that he simply wished to dispose of her by handing her over to Emma.
As though she were a pile of filthy linen.
Abigail’s heart sunk as she realised she had made her position even worse by acting impulsively and being intimate with James. Not a single person would wish to speak to her or even glance in her direction without gossiping about her, whether it be to her face or behind her back.
Her heart sank even more as she realised that she had not only potentially ruined her reputation in Weymouth, but also put her mother’s future at risk. If her uncle heard any hint of such a scandal, he would surely cease to make any financial contributions.
And who could blame him? There had already been one scandal involving Abigail and he had barely forgiven her for that, though she had not been at fault.
Her family would not survive another scandal, and Uncle Leonard’s generosity would not tolerate any more taints on the family name. He would not think twice about leaving Abigail and her mother without a penny.
Abigail groaned to herself as she dropped her head onto her arms and drew in a deep breath. This was most certainly not what she’d had in mind at all. Moving to Weymouth, away from the judgmental eyes leering at her had been her chance to begin a new life.
This time, however, she had been the one who had made a mess of things.
Her mother’s voice caused her to lift her head with a jolt and she turned herself around.
Her mother stood in the open doorway and a hint of a smile was on her lips.
“Mother?”
“There is someone here to speak with you, my dear.”
“Who is it?”
“The guest is waiting for you in the drawing room.”
“The drawing room? But we do not meet with guests in the—”
“It is best not to keep your guest waiting,” her mother interjected and quietly disappeared into the hallway.
Abigail frowned heavily, uncertain of why her mother would be so incredibly evasive and not simply tell her who the visitor was. Never had they received anyone in the drawing room – not in the townhouse, nor in the stately home in Bath – and it seemed rather peculiar that her mother had made the exception.
Did her mother plan on introducing her to an eligible bachelor who wished to court her? If this was indeed what her mother was up to, Abigail would certainly nip it in the bud before it progressed any further.
Abigail sighed once more as she rose to her feet and quietly left her bedchambers. She made her way to the drawing room, pondering heavily on the possible identity of her mystery visitor. As soon as she stepped into the drawing room, she froze.
James turned slowly on his heel and gazed at her, appearing even more handsome as a ray of sunlight cast an illuminating beam across his face, accentuating the line of his handsome face.
Abigail swallowed the lump in her throat and pursed her lips.
“Abigail.”
Her name on James’ lips sounded even better than it had the last time he said it, and despite knowing she should not develop any feelings for this man, her advice fell onto her heart’s deaf ears.
“What are you doing here, James?” she asked stiffly.
“I came to speak with you.”
“What could you possibly wish to speak to me about after the way you treated me yesterday?”
Abigail crossed her arms and grew angry at him as her heart took a step back, allowing her head to take the reins. She was angered and hurt by his actions upon their return to the manor when the storm had ceased. He had distanced himself from her and it had hurt her more than he would ever realise. She should ask him to leave but she could not, even though her heart ached.
“I wish to apologise for the manner in which I behaved yesterday, after...”
His voice trailed but Abigail was well aware how his sentence would have ended if he merely possessed the courage to utter it out loud.
He cleared his throat. “It was not my intention to upset you, Abigail.”
“You did. You cast me aside as though I were nothing. Do I not mean a single thing to you, James? Am I simply one of those women whom you discard as soon as they give you what you want?”
James pursed his lips briefly and stepped towards her. “What do you mean?”
“Julia mentioned a few things about you and the company you keep.” Which had made her day even darker. Learning of the light skirts and cavorting James had done in his youth had made her somewhat ill. She knew many gentlemen conducted themselves in that way, but it had made her sick to her stomach anyway.
“That was a long time ago, and it was most certainly not Julia’s place to—”
“She is my friend and she is trying to prevent me from getting my heart broken once more,” Abigail said firmly and stepped to the side, attempting to put distance between herself and James. “She cares for my feelings and would not allow someone to treat me in any way that is not polite.”
Though she had been little help when the Timothy fiasco was afoot.
“I understand that, Abigail, and it makes her gesture noble and pure. I apologise. She is clearly a better person than I am.”
Abigail averted her eyes, no longer able to look at James without wishing he would wrap her in his strong arms and kiss her passionately. Those moments yesterday, when the hope that he may love her someday was still ripe in the air, had been truly wondrous. She couldn’t stop herself from wishing for those moments again.
“You came here to apologise. Is that all?” she asked impatiently, annoyed more with herself now, than him. Why did she find him so irresistible?
“No, that is not all. I hoped you would join me on the promenade for a stroll.”
Abigail’s eyebrows flickered up.
She was well aware that he was inviting her to a showcase on the promenade, but
she was not certain why. It was a very public display for nobles to be dressed in their best attire, and to show themselves off.
Why would James ask her to take a stroll along the beach where all those people could to see them together. Had she not been embarrassed enough?
“People would see us,” she said and clasped her hands together.
“Indeed, they would.”
She frowned at him. “I do not understand your request. Last evening, you did everything in your power not to be seen with me. You took me to a secluded parlour and handed me over to your brother’s wife as soon as possible. You ignored me in the ballroom and left abruptly. Now you wish to be seen in public with me? On the promenade, of all places.”
“Where else would you care to go?”
“It is not about where I wish to go, James. You hurt my feelings. One moment you make me feel as though I am the most important woman in the entire world to you, and the next you discard me as though I am nothing.”
Abigail swallowed the lump in her throat and blinked away the hot tears that stung her eyes. “You perplex me, James. And to be entirely honest, it is exhausting.”
“I understand. And I apologise. I wish to explain myself, but I have trouble finding the words or the courage to do so.”
Her mouth dropped open. How was that possible? According to Julia, he was a rake and a war hero. Courage was not something he was lacking.
“You should not be afraid to feel or show your emotions. Being vulnerable is very liberating.”
“I trust that you speak from experience,” James said.
“Indeed, I do,” Abigail said with a nod. “I will join you on the promenade, but there is something I wish in return.”
“Anything, and I do mean that,” James said to her.
“I wish for you to tell me about the war. The things you would not tell anyone else. I want to know why you shut your feelings out.”
“Abigail...”
“That is my condition.”
James drew in a slow breath and nodded. “Very well.”
Although Abigail felt a sense of accomplishment at his agreement, she was fearful of her feelings for James and how they may not be reciprocated.
Chapter Fifteen
The glow on Abigail’s skin caused by the sunlight beaming down on her and the gentle breeze blowing her dark brown locks away from her face were too mesmerizing a picture for James to look elsewhere. Not even the boisterous chatter of the people around them was able to deter him from focusing his attention solely on her.
And the longer he stared at her, the more the noise seemed to simply fade into the background.
James knew that he should not allow Abigail’s beauty to derail his train of thought, but he found it nearly impossible to focus. Her presence made a distinctive impression on him and continued to do so the more time he spent with her.
He had decided that he would spend more time with her, not because he had feelings for her, but because he cared for the state of her reputation. Her previous scandal involvement – despite not being the person responsible or at fault in that instance – had already caused some uproar within the residents of Weymouth. And after his behaviour the previous evening, rumours of them had already began to circulate.
He couldn’t have that. His pride and his sense of fairness wouldn’t stand for it.
James had come to an epiphany that was certain to restore her reputation and wished to discuss it with Abigail. They would treat it as a business arrangement. They would pretend to be courting, giving enough time for the residents of Weymouth to restore their faith in Abigail’s pure reputation. When the summer was over, James would return to London, and they would amicably part ways.
He put his hands behind his back and took a deep breath, enjoying the fresh air in his lungs.
“James, we have walked the entire length of the promenade and you have yet to say something,” Abigail said, interrupting his troubled thoughts.
“Indeed. I have much to think of.”
“Tell me.”
James lowered his gaze and stared at the ground beneath his feet. His jaw tightened at the prospect of having to speak of what she wished to hear.
“I understand that your time in France was difficult and traumatising. I cannot even begin to comprehend the things you have seen or heard or experienced. Referring back to our conversation in the folly, your wounds needs to be cleansed in order to heal properly. I believe that is what you said.”
“And the fact that I may not be ready and willing to share them with you does not matter?” he asked, then instantly regretted it when he saw the hurt in her eyes.
“You made me a promise. Are you not a man of your word? Because I can leave...”
“No, please,” James said and held up his hands to stop her from attempting to leave. “Please, do not leave.”
Abigail stared expectantly at him, then slowly turned away and they continued their stroll.
James sighed and forced himself to just start talking. Surely, the words would come out if he just tried. “In the six years that I was in service I lost many brothers. We were a band, an unstoppable force to reckoned with. We trained together, laughed together. We cried together even if it was only on the inside.
“We mourned our fallen brothers. We honoured them and we will never forget them. Those six years taught me many things. That life is fragile. The brother who sat with you, chuckled with you, is nowhere to be seen. He, too, was obliterated. He was gone in an instant. Loss made me hard, and in order to survive, I had to switch all of my emotions... off. The feelings, the hurt, the loss, the numbness in my heart, the noise in my head. I had to channel it into anger, vengeance. It was destructive, of course. But it was the only way I was able to make it through that war.”
James drew in a deep breath and his shoulders eased. He had not expected to feel as enlightened as he did at that moment. Simply by opening his heart to Abigail, he felt... unburdened. Perhaps shining a light on the darkness could truly cleanse some of the poison in his soul.
He straightened his shoulders and composed himself to continue. “After I returned to London, things seemed incredibly different to me. I was not used to that way of life any longer. I had spent too much time away, on the front. I felt useless and without a purpose.”
“You fought in a war against an enemy of England. How in heaven can you feel as though you do not have a purpose?”
He smiled sadly. She did not understand, and rightly so. She’d never been further than her own parents’ house.
He tried to explain. “Being a soldier was what I excelled at. I am no longer a soldier, I am merely a man. I look at Charles and I see how accomplished he is. Married, with two lovely children, a family estate, and it makes me feel rather inadequate. I had always felt inferior to my brother as he was older, and he had inherited my father’s title. And now... well, it is not any better.”
“You do not need to be a duke to be adequate and with purpose.”
“I realise that. And in a way, I am glad not to be Charles.”
“Why is that?” she asked.
“I am not supposed to mention this to anyone, but I trust that I have your full discretion on the matter,” James said.
“Absolutely,” Abigail said. “What is the matter? It sounds rather serious.”
“I am not certain if you are aware, but my brother and Emma’s marriage is of a convenient nature. It was an arrangement between her parents and ours. They were well-suited for one another, and partially still are. They care for one another very much, but Charles had never truly loved Emma in the manner in which she craves. Charles made a snide comment to her about love not being able to happen when forced, and Emma took offense. She voiced her feelings to him and he simply didn’t understand. My brother is rather stubborn and insists that he did nothing wrong, and that Emma overreacted.”
“I certainly hope he did not say that to her face,” Abigail said with a cringe.
“Unfortunatel
y, he did.”
“Oh, dear.” Abigail winced.
“Since then, Emma now resides in a bedchamber down the hallway from the one she and Charles shared, and she refuses to listen to him regarding the matter until he realises what he said was inappropriate and hurtful. Until he admits he was at fault and apologises.”
Which, in James’ modest opinion, was never going to happen.
“And from what you mentioned earlier about being stubborn, I am predicting that hell will freeze over before that happens.”
James couldn’t help but chuckle at her language. “Precisely.”
“Is that why Emma smelled of wine and oak yesterday?”
“Indeed. She spent a fair amount of time in the wine cellar, attempting to drown her sorrows,” James said.
“There is no point in doing so, as most of our sorrows are fully capable of swimming,” Abigail said.
James gazed at her, not expecting such profound and deep words to come from such a young woman. He then remembered that she had gone through quite deep waters herself and only recently.
“I do wish there was something we could do to assist her,” Abigail said and looked expectantly at James. “I know it may not be our place, but there must be something we can do.”
“We?” She spoke about them as though they were a unit, a team, a couple.
Abigail shrugged and her cheeks flushed. “What I meant to say, is that he is your brother, which already involves you, and Emma has been nothing but kind and generous to me, regardless if her kindness was caused by a large consumption of wine or not.”
James suppressed a chuckle and lowered his gaze for a moment. “It is not our place to meddle.”
“We will not be meddling. Clearly, Emma is in distress if she resorts to euthanising her emotions. And hidden behind the wall of stubbornness, I am certain your brother does not wish to lose Emma. They simply require a nudge in the right direction.”
“I will speak to my brother.”
“We could speak to your brother,” Abigail nudged.
James shook his head and cleared his throat. “Speaking of we...”
Abigail’s eyebrows rose with intrigue and expectation as James looked at her. For the oddest reason, which was rather inexplicable to him, his heart pounded wildly in his chest.
