“Don’t do this, Abigail. Please don’t pretend ignorance. It doesn’t suit you.”
She crossed her arms over her middle, as if to protect herself. “I have no idea why you are so upset about my letter. And furthermore, I insist on knowing why you have been so cold and remote since yesterday.”
“Let’s see. Maybe a letter has something to do with it?”
Abigail shook her head. “You are not making sense, Joseph.”
“All right. Since you insist on playing this game, I will come right out with it.” He ran his fingers through his hair, then stared directly into her eyes. “I know about Redgrave.”
Abigail’s brows drew together. “Redgrave?”
“Yes, my dear. Redgrave. The man to whom you were betrothed.”
“Of course you know about Redgrave. Drake told you all about him before we were married. Whyever would you bring him up now?”
Joseph chuckled without mirth. “I don’t know. Perhaps if you gave it some thought, you might come up with the answer to your question.”
She stared at him open-mouthed. “I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about.”
“I saw it, Abigail!”
“Saw what?”
“The letter.”
“What letter?”
“The letter from him.”
“From whom?”
“Redgrave!”
They continued to stare at each other across the open space between them. Seconds ticked by, the only sound in the room their heavy breathing.
“You are making no sense whatsoever. There is not, nor was there ever, a letter from Redgrave.”
“My respect for you is diminishing by the minute.”
“How dare you!” She drew herself up. “If anyone’s respect is being questioned, it is mine for you.” She leaned forward, her hands fisted at her side. “Once again I will reiterate. I have no idea what you mean.”
“Fine. Have it your way. If you want to conduct a separate life, then there isn’t much I can do, is there?” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I have decided to send you back to London.”
Her head snapped back. “London? Why?”
“I have failed miserably in keeping you safe. I also think your life is there. It appears you are missing those you’ve left behind.”
Abigail crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “Why do I have the feeling I’ve wandered onto the stage of a bad play? You are spewing lines at me, and I have no idea what my response is supposed to be.”
“All right. In plain English, this will not work. I am very sorry that I somehow don’t meet your expectations, but I cannot be something I am not, have never been, and will never be. No matter how much I . . .”
“Joseph . . .” She reached out to him, but he turned his back.
With an anguished cry, she whipped past him, through the door, slamming it on her way out. He cringed with the noise, his heart sickened by their exchange. His world was crumbling around him. Everything he thought he had, and that he had thanked God every day for, had turned to dust. Their marriage was a sham, and she could very well die tomorrow from another bullet or fire.
As a married woman, once she was back in London she would no longer be under the cloak of scandal. Deep down, he’d always questioned the success of this marriage. She was too far above him in station and no doubt missed all the better things in life that Redgrave would have provided for her.
He wandered down to the library, and poured a brandy. Glancing out the window, he noted a soft rain had begun to fall. He had no idea where Abigail had gone off to, but hopefully she had not gone outdoors. Then he shook himself. Why did he care? He’d caught her right in the middle of writing to her potential lover.
He leaned back in his chair, his eyes closed. Memories of Abigail from the time she was a little girl, following him and Drake around until they were forced to tie her to a tree to keep her from annoying them, had him smiling. Then as a young lady, preparing for her come-out, telling him she wanted to dance her first waltz with him. Her young, loving heart had shone in her eyes that night. It had torn him apart to rebuff her, telling her he was much too old to be dancing with debutantes.
He’d been forced to watch the young men line up to request dances. She’d smiled and had written names on her card while his gut had tightened. Abigail had not been for him. She was a duke’s daughter, and he the son of a rector.
As if someone poked him with a sharp stick, he sat up, placing his glass on the table next to him. What the devil was he thinking? Abigail was not for him? She was his wife! Since when did Joseph Fox give up so easily? And by God, no one, certainly not an upper crust dandy with no respect for women, was going to take her away from him.
He wouldn’t be sending her to London. If anything, he would pack up the household and move to Cornwall if that’s what it took to keep her safe. And furthermore, he would let her know immediately that it was the end of their “friendship” marriage. He loved her. Plain and simple.
She was worth fighting for and if she felt love was a gamble, then let the battle commence. If it took the rest of their life together, he would once again see that love in her eyes that he had refused all those years ago.
Suddenly anxious to see her, and let her know where he stood, he headed back to her sitting room. She hadn’t returned yet. Wanting a frontal attack, he made his way to the desk, pulled out the drawer and removed the paper she’d hidden from him. Taking a deep breath, he held it in shaky hands and began to read.
Oh, God.
His mouth dried up and his eyes misted as he read Abigail’s scrawl. She’d drawn various sized hearts over the paper with “Abigail loves Joseph” written inside each one, like a young miss in the schoolroom. With the way he’d been behaving all afternoon, it was no wonder she’d attempted to hide it from him.
A sense of euphoria washed over him, causing him to grin and want to shout out loud. There apparently would be no battle, since it seemed he’d already outflanked the enemy, and the war had been won.
Chapter Seventeen
Abigail flew past Manning at the door. He quickly opened it, his eyebrows raised. “My lady, it is beginning to rain.”
She shook her head and continued on, not daring to speak lest she burst into tears. She had no idea where she was headed, only that she had to get away from Joseph. For some unfathomable reason, he believed her to be in touch with that bounder, Redgrave. As if she were stupid enough to want to deal with that man ever again.
Perhaps she had never stated it, but surely Joseph must have noticed her feelings for him had changed. How could she love him so much and have him not trust her? He hadn’t bothered to explain why Redgrave had even come up. She hadn’t thought of the man in weeks.
Right now all she wanted to do was hide. Hide from his accusations and the hurt she’d seen in his eyes. Perhaps she should have behaved like an adult and stayed at home, insisting Joseph tell her why in heaven’s name he thought she had anything to do with Redgrave. After she managed to calm down, she would return, and demand he tell her what he was talking about. If she had to tie him to a chair in order to get him to do it, then that was what she would do.
Not sure where she intended to go, she headed toward the village. She needed to walk off her anger. A soft rain had begun to fall, and combined with the layer of clouds above, the dark and dreary afternoon fit her mood. She ran her palms up and down her arms, but the chill came from deep inside her.
Thoughts racing through her mind, she was surprised to note she’d reached the edge of the village. She slowed her walk, then hesitated when a carriage drew up alongside her. Assuming it was Joseph, she picked up her pace again, her face forward, not wanting to acknowledge him. Let him begin the conversation.
“Lady Abigail!”
Abigail turned to see Lady Durham waving to her from the window of her carriage. “Come in out of the rain.”
Groaning inwardly, Abigail stopped and regarded the woman. She would indeed appear
foolish if she continued walking with the rain growing steadier every minute, but she was in no mood for conversation. And where in heaven’s name would she tell the woman she was off to in this weather? Drat running into her just now.
Resigned to her fate, she accepted the driver’s hand and climbed into the coach. “I’m sorry to get your carriage all wet. I didn’t realize it was about to rain when I left the house.” She smoothed the wet ringlets from her forehead and attempted a smile.
Lady Durham just stared at her, a slight smile teasing her lips. The carriage started with a jerk.
“Thank you for offering a ride.” Abigail wiped the water from her face, feeling particularly silly at being caught in these circumstances.
No response from her hostess.
Growing a bit awkward, Abigail said, “I was planning a trip to the circulating library, if your driver will be so good as to drop me off there.”
Nothing.
A tad alarmed, she clasped her hands in her lap. “Is everything all right, Lady Durham?”
“Actually, Lady Abigail, everything is wonderful. Finding you here in the rain on the road, by yourself, is probably the best thing that has happened to me since your arrival in Addysby End.”
Abigail tilted her head in question. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“No worries, my dear. I will be more than happy to explain.”
Abigail shifted in her seat, edging her way toward the door. Whatever was the matter with Lady Durham, she didn’t want any part of it. Although she would never call the woman a close friend, she’d never had a reason to wonder about her.
Until now.
“Actually, since I’m already so wet, and I’m sure to damage your lovely seats, if you will instruct your driver to stop, I would prefer to walk.”
“I don’t think so.”
Abigail lunged for the door handle just as Lady Durham reached under her seat and withdrew a pistol, aiming it directly at Abigail. “Sit back, please.”
Her mouth dried up as she stared at the gun facing her. Her fear increased when she noted how steadily Lady Durham held the weapon. The woman was no stranger to firearms. “What is this all about? What do you want from me?”
“Dead, my dear. I want you dead. My feeble attempts to get rid of you thus far have been unsuccessful. This time there will be no rescue, or poorly aimed bullets.”
Abigail gasped, suddenly realizing the person behind all her mishaps was sitting directly across from her. “It was you. All along, it was you causing my accidents.”
Lady Durham broke into a smile. “Very good, Lady Abigail.” She dipped her head as though receiving a great honor.
“Why?”
“A minute, if you please. There is something I need to take care of first.” She thumped on the ceiling of the carriage, and it came to a rolling stop. “This pistol will be pointed directly at you, so I suggest you sit back and wait. Quietly.”
Once the driver arrived at the door of the carriage, Lady Durham placed the hand holding the pistol alongside her, with the barrel of the gun pointed directly at Abigail. “Martin, I have changed my mind. Instead of heading home, I prefer a ride along the river. I will instruct you when to stop.”
“It’s raining a bit hard now, my lady.”
“I don’t pay you to argue with me, or to point out things that I have no problem seeing for myself,” she snapped. “Just get back up on your perch and drive.”
The driver tugged on his forelock. “Yes, my lady.”
Abigail’s head was spinning. All along it had been this woman behind her accidents. What could she have possibly gained?
“While we take our little journey, I will appease your curiosity.” Once again she drew the pistol up so it sat snug in her lap, aimed at Abigail’s chest.
“You see, Lady Abigail, unlike you, I was not born into wealth and privilege. I had to fight my way up from the mud to become Lady Durham. I won’t bother you with the details, since I’m sure your tender sensibilities would be shocked. And we cannot have that, can we?”
Keep her talking. Abigail needed to figure a way out of this mess. As long as Lady Durham continued to prattle on, she had time. And surely she wouldn’t be foolish enough to shoot her right here in the carriage where blood would splatter all over. She gulped. Better not to allow her thoughts to wander in that direction.
“My husband, Lord Durham, was a shriveled-up, old, decrepit man. I’m not even sure he knew he had married me. I had been companion to his wife, and once she died, I stepped right into her role.”
Abigail glanced out the window, noticing the river, the water gushing and swollen from recent rains. Small sticks and branches floated by, tumbling and rolling, as if on a race to the end. The carriage remained on the road that ran parallel to the waterway.
“Once the old bastard died, he left me with nothing. Nothing! Do you know how many times I had to wipe his slobbering mouth because he refused to hire a nurse? I should have known then that he’d wasted away whatever money he’d had.”
Abigail tried to control her breathing so she could think. The panic racing through her was jumbling her thoughts. For as many times as Lady Durham had attempted to kill her, there was no doubt in her mind that unless Abigail gained control, she would very shortly be dead.
And she would never see Joseph again. Before she had time to tell him how much she loved him, and how happy—not merely content—she was with her life. They would never hold each other in the night and whisper plans of the future. Tears rushed to her eyes when she thought about how much she was destined to miss if this deranged woman had her way.
Lady Durham continued her discourse. “Then he cocked up his toes and within days his heir, a snooty nephew from Lancashire, showed up and invited me to leave the premises.” She shook her head, her lips pinched. “All he gave me, besides a boot in the arse, was a portion, paid monthly.” Lady Durham’s eyes flashed. “That is not what I’d worked so hard for. A tiny monthly sum? Not at all.”
“What has that got to do with me?”
“You don’t know? My goodness, Lady Abigail, you are not as smart as I thought.”
Nothing the woman said made sense. How trying to kill her would improve Lady Durham’s circumstances was a puzzle. Then she remembered her visit to the circulating library when she’d first arrived and Mr. Fogel’s words when he had met her.
We were all happy to hear Mr. Fox had married. Although I’m sure some of the ladies who had their eye on him weren’t too pleased.
Abigail’s eyes met Lady Durham’s. “Oh.”
“Exactly.” The woman’s smile was reminiscent of pictures she’d seen of the devil, teeth flashing, eyes snapping.
I am in a lot of trouble.
…
Spurred into motion, Joseph strode from Abigail’s sitting room and rushed down the stairs. “Manning, has her ladyship left the house?”
“Yes, sir, she has. I warned her that it had begun to rain, but she continued on, anyway.”
“When?”
“About a half hour past, sir.”
If he took his horse, Whitney, he would get soaked, but the carriage couldn’t go places the horse could and would also slow him down. Since he had no idea which direction Abigail had gone in, Whitney was a better idea.
Shrugging into his coat, he stepped to the door, then stopped and addressed Manning. “If her ladyship returns, please see that she stays put.”
His agitated stride ate up the distance between the house and the stables. “Tack up Whitney for me,” he snapped as he entered the area.
The stable master, Jackson, viewed him with surprise. “Are you sure you want to take Whitney out in this, sir? The carriage might be a better idea.”
“No. Tack him up, please. I want to leave immediately.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Jackson, did her ladyship take Samara this afternoon?” If Abigail was on foot, she couldn’t have gotten too far in the short time since she’d run from the house.
“Haven’t seen Lady Abigail today, sir.”
Joseph nodded and accepted the reins from the stable master. He vaulted onto Whitney’s back, patting the horse’s neck as the animal shifted back and forth, picking up on his master’s agitation. Guessing she would have headed to the village where she could get some type of shelter, he squeezed his knees against the animal and took off in that direction.
The light rain had turned into a full drizzle by the time he arrived at the village. He drew up the collar of his jacket to keep the rain from sliding down his back. Muddy water splashed up from Whitney’s hooves as he slowed the horse to a walk. He stopped and eyed the store-lined street. No shoppers were about, either having sought refuge in one of the stores, or returned to their warm and dry homes.
He would have to go from one store to the next in his search. But whatever it took, he would do it. He had no idea what that letter was about, but it was obvious Abigail was stunned at his accusations, and if he hadn’t been such an ass, he would have realized she knew nothing about the note. Now he would be lucky if she didn’t pack up and leave him.
Although there was absolutely no proof, he couldn’t help but consider the letter was left there on purpose, and was somehow connected to her accidents. So few people had access to his study that he found it difficult to imagine who’d left it there.
A frantic hour later, soaked to the skin and twisted with fear, he left the last business. A thorough search had resulted in nothing. No one in the village had seen her, and she hadn’t visited any of the stores. A numbing dread swept over him at the possibility that she had met with yet another accident. What a fool he’d been to let her run off like that.
He pulled the brim of his hat low and turned Whitney in the direction of home. Hopefully, Abigail had walked off her anger and returned to the house. It was the thought of her back, safe and sound, lounging in a hot bath that kept him from losing all control.
…
Lady Durham thumped on the ceiling of the carriage, never letting her gaze shift from Abigail. “I had it all planned out. Once my mourning period had ended, I would marry Joseph and have all that lovely money. But instead, he travels to London to find sponsors for his bloody school and comes home with a wife!”
The Lady's Disgrace Page 17
