by Julia Donner
They rode down streets at a steady walk, thinking their own thoughts until Adele could stand it no longer. “Gordon, what I said before, about the children, I didn’t mean to imply that you would act carelessly with the duty of caring for them.”
He twitched a shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. “It’s quite my own fault if I’ve made a reputation for myself of caring too little and acting irresponsibly.”
“No, Gordon, never think that way about yourself. I am deeply sorry if I have given you the notion that I would think such a thing about you.”
Unable to bear it any longer, she snuggled her cheek between his shoulder blades. His warmth came through the damp cambric that smelled acrid from smoke. She didn’t care. The connection to him made her body sag against his. The bliss of it renewed tears.
When she slid her hands around his waist to his abdomen, he grabbed one and pressed it to his mouth. “Adele, tell me what I’ve done. I don’t know how I’ve failed you.”
Time for courage. Her voice sounded croaky when she forced out the answer. “All my life I’ve pretended that I didn’t care what people thought of me. But one must care or become as dense as a block of wood. Perhaps it was the wrong approach to make fun of myself before others had the chance. That way, I would control it, you see.”
He squeezed her hand, somehow knowing that the most difficult part had yet to be said. She swallowed and forced out the admission. “As I got older, the disinterest of my cousins was not difficult to tolerate. They have so little to recommend them, but you, I could not bear…cannot bear the idea of you seeing me…as ridiculous, in the same light as others do.”
“Whatever are you talking about? No, wait a moment to answer that.”
He urged the horse into a trot until he reined in next to a building with an awning that provided convenient shadows. With a sideways twist, he wrapped an arm around her waist and got her onto his lap.
“Now, Mrs. Treadwell, we are going to have a heart-to-heart. What was that bit about me seeing you in the same light as others? No, don’t look away. Chin up and out with it.”
She blinked rapidly. Her throat closed off, forcing her to swallow. This was so difficult, saying out loud about that which hurt her most. The answer came out in a whisper. “You and your friends were laughing. I was the jest.”
He started to scoff then stopped. “When was this?”
“The day…the day I told you about the baby.”
Drizzling rain began to tap on the awing overhead. She waited while he scowled in thought. He finally shook his head, “I don’t remember ever doing such a thing. I wouldn’t.”
“You and your friends were waiting in the drawing room for me to come down and—”
“Ah, now I remember. Oh, you foolish girl! I was making fun of myself! That is what you get for listening at doors. Had you come inside, you would’ve seen that I was making silly faces at them, and you only have to look at Tookie to see how highly he regards you. He came to help with the children, didn’t he?”
“Oh, Gordon, Thomas came because he’s mad for Annabelle! And…you weren’t making fun of me, behind my back?”
“Wretched, bullheaded female, why would I do it on the sly when it’s so much more amusing to tease you to your face? This stupid idea of my making fun of my own wife is unsupportable, madam. You know damn well I’m out of my mind for you, can’t let you out of my sight. Oh, this calls for a most energetic spanking.”
With pretended humility, she humbly said, “Whatever you say, Gordon.”
“And?”
“I’ve been a very naughty girl.”
An unsteady smirk revealed how close he was to laughter. He captured her chin and demanded against her mouth. “And?”
She wasn’t going to get the kiss he held in abeyance until she confessed, so she did. “And I’m horribly, fatally, utterly mad for you, Mr. Treadwell.”
He cuddled her against his chest as he urged the horse as swiftly as safely could be done through the light rain. She wasn’t cold against his chest and closed her eyes to listen to the steady thump of his heart, content but a bit weary.
They arrived drenched and sopping puddles on the floor and slopped their way up steps to find Showers waiting in the hallway outside their rooms.
“A bath is ready, sir. More hot water on the way. If you would, Mrs. Treadwell, Barker is waiting with warmed towels.” He gestured, not to her room, but to Gordon’s, then paused before leaving. “And I should add that the bath is in master’s dressing room. It’s so much larger, you know.”
Gordon muttered something unrepeatable under his breath and Adele quickly said, “Showers, I doubt we’re paying you enough. We’re in a generous mood at the moment. Would you like an increase in pay?”
A slight, satisfied smile lit his cherubic face. “Why, ma’am, I had planned to approach Mr. Treadwell with the very same suggestion next week, taken by the notion that you would consider such an action prudent.”
When Gordon started to grumble, Adele hushed him with a laugh. “There are some battles that can never be won. Let’s win the ones we can,” she said and waggled her eyebrows, fully capturing Gordon’s attention.
Showers tipped his head in a bow. “Just so, ma’am. A supper will be brought up, but not until you ring.”
Grabbing Adele’s hand, Gordon said, “With that, you’ve earned your blasted raise. Dismiss everyone for the night, and leave the larder unlocked. We can manage on our own.”
“As you wish, sir, as you wish.”
Gordon mumbled something else thankfully undistinguishable, and a moment later, shoved a surprised but smiling Enid out the bedchamber door.
Chapter 23
An exquisite ripple of excitement flooded through her chest and down her arms as Gordon handed her down from the carriage. He gave her a grin of encouragement before he escorted her up the steps to his father’s London house. He didn’t let go of her hand until after they entered the withdrawing-room where Sir Charles waited. Gordon had sent a note to his father that morning asking to be available for a morning call.
After initial salutations, Gordon declined an offer to be seated and recaptured her hand. “Father, thank you for having us. We come with important news that will please you.”
Sir Charles lifted his eyebrows. “Have you, Gordon? I should hope it is. I am not in the habit of rearranging my schedule in order to satisfy one of your whims.”
Startled, Adele looked up for Gordon’s response to that not pleasant remark. When she saw the slight twist of his mouth followed by a convulsive swallow, anger bristled across her shoulders. If she’d been a dog, every hackle would be straight up.
Just as Gordon was about to speak, she released his hand and stepped forward. “Sir Charles, Father, I will ask you to never use that tone to my husband in my presence. What you may have to say to each other in private cannot be my concern, but you are not to denigrate him in the company of his wife. Whatever has gone before between you, for whatever reason, your son has proved himself an excellent and worthy husband. I will not allow anyone, anyone, sir, anyone, to do him a slight.”
Gordon touched her arm. She shook it off and continued to glare a challenge at Sir Charles, who stood in what others would perceive as a somewhat disinterested stance, but Adele—from familiarity with the son—knew Sir Charles was shocked.
“Well, Gordon,” Sir Charles began after an awkward silence, “it seems you have married a woman very like your mother.”
The hoarseness of Gordon’s reply revealed strong emotions held in check. “How is that, Father?”
Sir Charles placed a hand on the fireplace, looking down by his foot and not at them. “She once picked up that poker and threatened to whack a political opponent of mine over the head with it after he insulted my opinion.”
Behind her, Gordon murmured, “Mother did that? I can’t imagine it.”
“You knew her as a parent. You did not see her through the eyes of a spouse. She was fiercely protective. She terrifi
ed the poor fellow. He never again stepped inside this house. We met up with him at some event or other, and he apologized again. Profusely. And so shall I, Gordon. I sincerely regret my tone. It has become a regrettable habit, even more shameful now that you are here to tell me wonderful news. Am I right in supposing that I am about to become a grandfather?”
Since he directed the question her way, Adele nodded. Sir Charles continued, “Thank you, my child. You both have made me happy indeed. And tell me, would you have done as my dearest Margaret would have done and bashed that fellow over the head with this?”
Her gaze followed his gesture toward the fireplace irons, pausing before she answered. “Certainly not. I could not be so bloodthirsty. I would have punched him on the nose.”
A glint, suspiciously bright, gleamed in Sir Charles’s eyes. Gordon’s arms enveloped her from behind as Sir Charles came to join in the embrace. Only the vague memory of her father’s enfolding arms gave her such feelings of safety and love. Tears stung her eyes, the wretched, emotional imbalance of pregnancy, but even so, she realized that she now had a family, a family of her own.
In one ear she heard Sir Charles whisper, “Daughter.” In the other, Gordon said, “I adore you, minx.”
Words formed, but would not rise through the restriction in her throat. She wanted so much to tell them what they meant to her, but didn’t know what to say, what was correct. She’d never learned how to react to so much love. But they knew and would teach her. They would not ever leave her. They would value her and never treat her like an unwanted guest. She felt Gordon’s nose in her hair and knew she had come home.
Dear Reader, If you enjoyed, A Rogue for Miss Prim, please consider writing a review. An excerpt from An American for Agnes follows this list of titles also written by Julia Donner, aka M.L. Rigdon.
Thanks for your friendship and continued support of this series!
Writing Historical Fiction as Julia Donner
The Friendship series
THE TIGRESSE AND THE RAVEN
THE HEIRESS AND THE SPY
THE RAKE AND THE BISHOP’S DAUGHTER
THE DUCHESS AND THE DUELIST
THE EARL AND THE RUNAWAY
THE DANDY AND THE FLIRT
LORD CARNALL AND MISS INNOCENT
THE BARBARIAN AND HIS LADY
A ROGUE FOR MISS PRIM
AN AMERICAN FOR AGNES (Winter 2016)
Writing as M.L.Rigdon
Fantasy
Seasons of Time trilogy
PROPHECY DENIED
BEYOND THE DARK MOUNTAINS
HER QUEST FOR THE LANCE
Contemporary
THE ATLANTIS CRYSTAL (A Philadelphia Hafeldt novel)
SEDUCTIVE MINES (Another Philadelphia Hafeldt adventure)
NEVER LET ME DIE (Romantic suspense with paranormal elements)
YA Fantasy
Songs of Atlantis series
THE VITAL
MASTER OF THE DARK
CANTICLE OF DESTRUCTION
DRAGONAIR (Spring 2018)
Excerpt from Book 10 in the Friendship Series.
AN AMERICAN FOR AGNES
by Julia Donner
Oakland Hall, Kent, England
Early Spring, 1820
Chapter 1
Of all the things Agnes Bradford would have preferred to do, concealing intense emotions in the midst of an evening assembly came last. Her breath stopped, trapped in her throat, when the man at the root of her misery entered the receiving room.
She quickly took a seat on the couch next to Mrs. Marston and pretended absorption with the names on her dance card. What was Vincent doing here? He’d never mentioned that he had connections to anyone in the district.
Anxiety sent quivers down her arms. Fear of exposure swirled chaotic thoughts. She began a cautionary list, mental reminders of how to hide and counteract the internal battle being waged. She mustn’t think of him as Vincent. He was Lord Vernam. She could pretend that they’d met at an exhibition, a partial truth. She’d been dazzled by the elegance of his manner and apparel, his perfectly tousled, bronze-blond hair. To someone who’d spent the last ten years of her life sequestered in Scotland’s countryside, he appeared godlike, unattainable, his attentions bewildering.
Her cheeks burned with a blush, remembering how she’d soaked up his flattery like the bumpkin she’d been. He’d stolen her innocence without a second thought. When she discovered that he was married, she suffered the depths of foolishness. His sense of entitlement insisted that they continue the affair. When she refused, the final horror came when he offered payment.
Across the room, the guests from London happily welcomed him into their circle. What if he made an awkward insinuation to them or pressed her to continue their affair? He’d been so spiteful the last time they spoke. Would he dare to do such a thing in her brother’s house?
She discreetly inhaled a deep, calming breath. Tonight’s gathering meant a great deal to her family. The heir to the Loverton title and estate had been found, a distant cousin. This evening’s soiree was meant to welcome him, introduce him to the neighborhood. Her mother and brother, Cameron, were terribly eager that all should go well.
With that in mind, Agnes had been tasked to keep company with Mrs. Marston, the most irascible person in the district. The disheartening request to companion the lady provided an unexpected boon. Staying seated beside her made Agnes less noticeable and coincided with fervent prayers to avoid Vincent’s notice. The size of this gathering—nothing like the London parties where the number of guests were purposely inflated to ensure the success of a squeeze—would allow no chance of escape. Confrontation at some point was inevitable. She must find a way to compose herself and settle her racing heart.
Guilt reminded her that there were worse disappointments in life than having behaved stupidly with the wrong sort of man. She’d met Vincent when she considered her chances of marriage long dead and buried. She and her mother had lived in near poverty until Cameron, long-thought dead, found them and brought them back home to Kent. In hindsight, she could see her gullibility, how she’d been pathetically easy prey.
Before the disastrous association with Vincent, she used to love parties, meeting new people, hearing about them and their families. Even after breaking off with him, she continued to feel as if she had home-wrecker carved into her forehead. Hiding in her rooms hadn’t helped. Crowding memories eventually forced her to leave, to go out and do something to keep her mind from what might have been had she not been so blind. How long does it take to heal a heart broken, shame, humiliation beyond bearing?
She sent up another prayer that Vincent would show some compassion or good sense and stay on the other side of the room. There could be no other reason for his presence here this evening than to continue his pursuit.
If only Cameron’s wife had not been called away to attend Lady Ravenswold with her confinement. Allison had become the sister she’d always longed for, the confidant who never judged and hadn’t when the keeping of the mistake she’d made became too much. Allison’s bottomless well of empathy and compassion soothed the devastating aftermath of Vincent’s cruel usage.
The lady seated beside her made a small noise to indicate that she felt ignored. Agnes offered a contrite smile. Mrs. Marston received her silent apology with a sniff and glanced away. Sitting next to her felt like being seated next to a short-fused bomb. Mrs. Marston’s prominence in the community meant that she couldn’t be denied an invitation, even though her presence meant the likelihood of a social blunder or catastrophe. That was why Agnes’s mother had given her the task of keeping the unpleasant woman company.
Mouth-watering scents of supper delicacies wafted through the open doorway. Agnes welcomed the aromas that alleviated Mrs. Marston’s belief that bathing should be a rare event.
Unable to suppress curiosity, her attention was again drawn to the guests clumped in groups scattered around the modest reception room. Partition doors were being opened to enlarg
e the saloon for dancing. She fiddled with the dance card she had no intention of honoring, opening it and pretending to study the names written inside while sketching a covert glance across the room. Vincent had immediately inserted himself into the center of the London visitors. Perhaps he had friendships with all of them, since he spent most of his time in Town and not at his Oxfordshire estate.
Her alarm intensified with the increasing belief that his only possible reason for leaving London during the Little Season had to involve her. This part of Kent had nothing to offer in comparison to the Season’s events, Parliamentary obligations, and social engagements. Any assembly in the country would be set down as dull in comparison to the refinements of London’s social whirl.
A burst of laughter followed by lively conversation came from another side of the room. She glanced at the animated group that surrounded Countess Bainbridge. The plump, auburn-haired countess, known as a cheerful bluestocking, had come down to visit a friend. Many were grateful that she’d left her intimidating husband at home and brought his sister, Lady Caroline, instead. Tall, raven-haired and aloof, Lady Caroline did not fully conceal her boredom and impatience to be elsewhere. Agnes understood, not the boredom, but the need to escape.
She sought relief in positive thought. All was going well otherwise. Her mother needn’t have worried about the party. Happily chatting guests from all levels of society filled the saloon with buoyant conversation. Success was assured. It couldn’t go otherwise no matter how dismal the setting or the company. In the country, where such delights were few, assemblies of any nature became immediate successes. Even so, her mother sought to create a perfect evening, which meant no hitches or avoidable calamities—such as the sort Vincent or Mrs. Marston could stir up.
