He tugged the axe out and struck the wall again. The wood splintered, but the opening was not large enough to fit through. Roaring like a wounded animal, he struck with the axe one more time, then dropped it to smash the wall with his shoulder. “Abigail!” He pushed the broken pieces out of the way and climbed in.
Smoke curled upward, momentarily blinding him. He covered his mouth with his forearm and blinked as tears ran down his face from his burning eyes. “Abigail!”
The shout had dragged smoke into his lungs. He doubled over and began to cough. He wiped his face with this shirt sleeve, and then got down on his hands and knees. With coughs racking his body, he eased down on his belly, keeping as low to the ground as he could, where the air was a bit clearer. Using his elbows, he started down the aisle and spotted her lying on her stomach, her arms over her head as if to protect herself.
With a grunt of relief he inched over to her. Using her shoulders, he rolled her onto her back. Taking a gulp of the cleaner air, he held his breath and hooked his hands under her arms.
Smoke poured from the gaping hole he’d created in the wall. He headed straight for it, dragging Abigail along, the opening like a beacon in the darkness. Once he reached the wall, he bent and scooped her up. Her arms and legs hung down, her head tilted back as if she were unconscious. Turning his back to the hole, he climbed through, holding her snug against his chest to keep her from scraping against the splintered opening. Pieces of broken wood grazed along his sides, tearing his shirt and digging into his skin.
The fresh air was a balm to his body. He inhaled deeply which started another spasm of coughing. He dropped to his knees on the grass as far away from the garden shed as he could carry her before his own breathing difficulties stopped him from walking.
Still struggling for air, he brushed the hair back from her face, cupped her chin, and shook her. Her face was blackened, but she appeared to be breathing. “Abigail.” Coughing overtook him once more. “Sweetheart, please open your eyes.” His raspy breath scratched his throat.
Abigail took one long shuddering breath and rolled to her side, doubling over as she began to cough. He sat her up and raised her hands above her head. Tears ran down her cheeks, tracking white lines over her soot covered cheeks as she strained to get air into her lungs. Her coughing continued, her face turning red under the black. Gripping her middle, she leaned over and lost the contents of her stomach.
His breathing a bit easier, Joseph pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped her mouth with a shaky hand. Her eyes were bloodshot, soot covered her face, and she continued to cough as if her lungs wanted to escape her body. Yet she had never looked so beautiful to him. He’d almost lost her, and that thought nearly crushed him.
She waved in the direction of the shed. “Still burning.” Then she was overtaken with a bout of coughing.
“I don’t give a damn about the shed. I was only concerned with you.” He was so angry at having found her collapsed on the floor of the burning garden shed he didn’t even apologize for his language. He longed to take her into his arms and hold her tight, but she still struggled to breathe. His forehead beaded at the thought of how close he had come to losing her. Again.
Right now he needed to get her into the house and out of her smoke filled clothing. She needed a bath and some tea. Or a shot of brandy.
As did he.
Behind them came the sound of the burning structure collapsing. A loud groan emanated from the building as the walls fell inward, sparks and flames rising into the sky. On wobbly legs, he surveyed the damage. His three men continued to toss water on the now smoldering pile.
“Cease.” He waved at the men. “Let it burn out.”
“Joseph.” Abigail’s weak cry brought his attention back to her.
He hunkered down and cupped her face, using his thumbs to wipe her tears. Her coughing had eased, but she still took in short, unsteady breaths. “I was so frightened.”
“I know, sweetheart. As was I.” He pressed her face to his chest, tangling his fingers in her hair, rubbing her scalp. He pushed to the back of his mind any thoughts of how the fire started, and why Abigail was trapped inside. He felt her body shudder as she tried to get fresh air into her lungs.
“Oh my goodness, sir. Whatever happened here?” Mrs. O’Neill hurried over, wiping her hands on her apron, taking in the burned garden shed and Abigail gasping in his arms.
“Mrs. O’Neill, please see that baths are readied for both my wife and myself. Then please prepare some tea for Lady Abigail.”
Doing something—anything—to get his mind off the possibility of what could have happened, calmed him. Freed his mind to focus on what he needed to do to help his wife. He gathered Abigail in his arms and stood. She wrapped her arms around his neck as another fit of coughing took her. Without a backward glance at the smoking rubble, he headed to the house.
Joseph stumbled, his body weakened from the strain of the morning events, as he reached their bedchamber. Sanders rushed into the room right on his heels. “Sir, please let me help my lady out of her clothes.”
“No.”
The maid jerked at his sharp tone. Perhaps he was slowly losing his mind, but he didn’t want anyone touching Abigail, except him. Right now he trusted no one. Although he couldn’t imagine who would want to hurt his wife, this was one accident too many. Once she was bathed, and safely ensconced in bed with a tray of tea, he would question her.
“Sanders, please fetch a nightgown for her ladyship and lay it out. We will need some of her soap and warm towels. I will attend to her.”
The young maid appeared scandalized. “Sir?”
“Just do as I say, please.” Still holding Abigail, he turned toward the door as a footman carried in the large tub, followed by a maid and another footman carrying buckets of water. Abigail whimpered when he tried to release her, so he sat on the daybed across from the fireplace and continued to hold her until the tub was filled, Sanders had laid out a nightgown, and the door had quietly closed.
“Sweetheart?”
She shook her head, bringing a smile to his lips since she looked so much like a stubborn child. “Come on, love. Up we go.” He rose and released her legs so she had no choice but to stand. Gripping her hands in his, he backed up and studied her. “I need to get your clothes off so you can bathe.”
Nodding, she remained perfectly still as he removed her clothing, tossing them into a pile that he would have Sanders throw away. The stench of the smoke would never leave the garments. Once she was naked, he again scooped her up and carried her to the tub. Easing her into the warm water, he watched as she sighed and leaned her head back, her eyes closed.
He removed his cravat, jacket and waistcoat, then rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. He’d have to get rid of his garments as well. Noting his soot-covered hands, he swished them in the water and gave them a quick wash.
She looked so small, so vulnerable. He rubbed the bar of scented soap over the cloth and removed the grime from her face. She opened her eyes, a haunted look in their depths that twisted his insides. “May I have a drink of water?”
“Of course.” He handed her the cloth and crossed the room to the pitcher of water on the table next to their bed. He filled a glass and returned to her. “Here, sweetheart, but don’t drink it too fast.”
“Thank you.” She sipped the liquid, closing her eyes as the water slid down her throat.
Once more the fear that had struck him when he’d first seen the garden shed on fire and had realized that Abigail was in there, gripped him. She could have died, right here in the safety of their own property. How she came to be in the shed, and the place on fire, was something he would investigate thoroughly…later.
For now, he only wanted to hold onto her.
An hour later, they were both bathed and lying in bed, wrapped in each other’s arms. Abigail had finished her tea, and he’d downed more than his normal quantity of brandy. The ordeal of the morning had taken its toll and after very fe
w words, both of their throats being somewhat sore, Joseph started to drift off to sleep.
His eyes half-closed, he ran his finger down Abigail’s soft cheek. She smelled of flowers and sunshine. All the odor of smoke had left the room with their clothes. Her thick braid rested over one shoulder, and her breathing had the soft and gentle pattern of deep slumber.
She’d changed his life in the short time they’d been married. Just the thought of losing her, of never again seeing her beautiful face first thing in the morning, or last thing at night, terrified him. Somewhere along the way she’d become very important to him. To his life, his very existence.
He continued to study her, more grateful than he could ever express that she was here, next to him, alive and well. Tomorrow—when the horror of today was behind them—they would talk about the fire. Another accident? Not likely, but the alternative, that someone was trying to harm Abigail, was too much to contemplate. He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead.
Sleep well, my love.
Chapter Eleven
“You want to go to London?” Abigail rested in bed, propped against two pillows. Joseph sat on the bed, causing the mattress to dip. He was fully dressed in buckskin breeches, with a blue jacket over a cream-colored waistcoat. His cravat was starched and expertly tied. He’d apparently been up for some time.
She had just awakened from a night of fitful slumber. Dreams had invaded her sleep about flames and being trapped behind them, with Joseph on the other side, calling her, but unable to breach the distance.
It had been near dinner time the night before when they’d awoken from their nap after the terror of the fire. They shared a tray in their room, neither of them wanting to dress and go down to dinner. He’d said very little about the fire, assuring her she needed to rest, and they would discuss it on the morrow. Despite her nap, she’d barely had the energy to finish her dinner. Soon after the tray had been removed, he’d tucked her in, kissed her on the forehead and had left the room to attend to some business in his study.
She’d awoken several times in the night, shaking and gulping air. Each time Joseph had held her and whispered words of comfort. She’d clung to him, chagrined at the raw need to feel his arms around her. For his strength and warmth. Were she able to crawl inside his body she would have.
In the light of day, she was able to push that memory to the back of her mind.
His voice interrupted her musings, drawing her attention back to her question. “Yes, I need to take care of some business, and it would be a good opportunity for a visit with your family.”
“But what about your duties here? We have the building of the school to supervise. You have students to tutor and services on Sunday.”
“I directed a note to my father last evening, and he is sending a curate from his church to oversee things for a while.”
“For a while? How long do you plan for us to be gone?”
“I don’t know. Not too long, though. I thought you would be thrilled to see London again.”
“Oh, Joseph, you are still under the impression that I miss all of that.” She shook her head. “When we discussed our arrangement I thought I’d made it clear. I no longer want that sort of a life. Not that I didn’t enjoy it, but after three years, I want more than gowns, balls, and parties.”
“Yet, had your marriage to Redgrave gone forward, that is precisely the life you would have had.”
Funny how that thought hadn’t crossed her mind before now. Would she have grown bored with ton life? Her mother had been involved with society for years. But she’d also spent a great deal of time at their country estate where she’d romped with her seven children.
Redgrave had impressed upon her more than once that he detested living in the country and was satisfied to have his steward take care of his estate while he stayed in Town. He’d also stated that an heir and a spare was all he expected to ever need. When she’d mentioned her parents and their large, loving family, he’d smirked as if she were a silly child. Why hadn’t she disputed this? Strange that, at the time, his comments had never bothered her.
Considering them now, they made the man appear frivolous and shallow. Which was exactly what he’d turned out to be. It was difficult not to compare him to Joseph, who was devoting his life to helping others. Her husband’s love of children had spurred his concern about their education. Feeling uneasy with the comparison and not sure what to do with those thoughts, she quickly dismissed them.
She drew herself up. “I don’t wish to dwell upon the past.”
Joseph’s smile faltered. “Of course not. Please excuse my bad manners.”
Now she’d hurt his feelings. She tried to smooth over her blunder by smiling brightly. “When shall we leave?”
“I thought I’d give you today to rest and prepare yourself. I’ve notified Sanders of our trip, so she is doing whatever it is that maids do when their ladies travel.”
Abigail thrust the covers aside and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. “In that case, I had best speak with her.” She faltered when she stood, surprised at the dizziness that washed over her.
Joseph rushed to her side. “Are you all right?” He wrapped his arm around her waist, studying her with concerned eyes.
“I don’t know. How strange. I never swoon.”
He eased her back on the bed. “Perhaps you need more time to recover from yesterday. Shall I put off our trip?”
“No. I most likely rose too quickly.” She patted his hand. “I’ll be fine.”
He studied her for a moment and then crossed the room. “I will send in Sanders. Should you change your mind and wish to delay the trip for a day or so, merely send word. I will be in my study, going over a few things.”
…
Joseph closed the study door and wandered to the window. He stood with his hands behind his back in the very spot where he’d seen Edward race for the burning gardener’s shed yesterday morning.
Something was wrong, and he didn’t know how to go about fixing it. Hence the reason for a trip to London. He had to speak with Drake, get his perspective on this. Abigail had been involved in three mishaps since she’d arrived in Addysby End. The first one had, indeed, been an accident with the Dinger’s pig. But the gunshot and burning gardener’s shed left him with an uncomfortable feeling.
He hadn’t had a chance to question Abigail as yet. She’d been sleeping on and off since the fire. But earlier this morning, he’d discovered that the latch to the gardener’s shed door had been secured from the outside. It was possible the wind had blown the door closed with such force that the latch had engaged, however, to his recollection, there had been only a soft breeze yesterday.
He pounded his fist against the window frame in frustration. Abigail had taken it quite well when she’d been shot, but the thought of someone purposely harming her was enough to cripple him. Tomorrow when they took the carriage to London, they would have a long talk. She might hold a clue as to what had happened, but he didn’t want to alarm her. It was best if he dealt with his concerns by himself.
It might become necessary for him to leave her at Manchester House in London for a while. But how in heaven’s name could he explain to her brother that his sister, whom he’d given him to protect and cherish, had been the victim of multiple injuries in such a short time?
The more difficult issue—one that he hadn’t spent too much time considering—was if these happenings were not accidents, who wished Abigail harm?
And why?
…
Joseph climbed in alongside Abigail in the well-sprung coach that would take them to London. The skies were heavy with threatened rain, and the air cool for summer. They’d managed to get an early start, which would allow them to reach London by the next day.
“May I say you look particularly lovely today, my dear?”
Abigail wore a blue carriage gown edged with deep blue trim and a matching bonnet. The frock seemed too big. Had she had lost weight while in his care? No surpr
ise, considering what she’d been through since her arrival.
She tugged on her gloves and smiled. “Thank you. Although I truly don’t miss the hustle and bustle of London, I am looking forward to visiting with my family.”
“Good. I want you to relax and enjoy the journey.” Her voice was still a bit raspy. The haunted look had left her eyes, but there remained tension in her face, as if she expected bad news. He hated the feeling of helplessness that evoked. He wanted to make Abigail happy, to give her a life that, if not what she’d planned for, at least made her content. She deserved a husband who adored her, and lively children to smother with the abundance of love she possessed. Love he intended to have her one day cast in his direction, despite her determination to remain apart from those feelings.
Sitting quietly alongside him, his wife studied the landscape as the coach started with a jerk and then smoothed into the familiar sound of horses’ hooves striking the ground and the squeak of the carriage wheels turning. As much as he hated to bring up her latest debacle, he had to get to the bottom of her accidents.
Joseph reached out and took Abigail’s hands in his, kissing her knuckles. “We need to speak about the fire.”
Immediately her body stiffened, and her eyes closed briefly. She licked her lips and took a deep breath. “Yes, I know.” She squeezed his hands. “You needn’t look so anxious. I can speak of it now.”
“I am feeling quite the cad for having brought you to a place that has been so unwelcoming.”
She shook her head. “Do not blame yourself. I am sure it’s merely a run of bad luck.”
He turned her hands over and rubbed his thumb across the soft skin on the inside of her wrist. “I need to know exactly what happened. How you came to be locked in the shed.”
For a minute, despite her assurances that she could speak of it, he feared she would refuse. Her breathing increased, and she worried her lower lip so that he expected to see blood. “There is really nothing strange about that. As I mentioned at breakfast that morning, I wanted to seek out Edward to discuss my plans for the garden.” She moved her gaze from him and stared out the window at the passing scenery.
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