by Holt, Cheryl
After their hours of bliss and joy, she was suddenly and vividly reminded of how isolated she was. She felt like the most forlorn person in the world.
CHAPTER SIX
“Aunt Catherine needs you. Right away.”
“Is something wrong?”
“We don’t know. She just sent us to fetch you.”
Abigail Henley Wallace was in her bedchamber at her husband’s home of Wallace Downs. Her twin nieces, Mary and Millie, had dashed in, catching her in her robe.
Her wedding gown had just been removed, the final fitting over. She’d never been a woman to fuss over her attire, and the past few years—with her income and status greatly reduced by circumstance—she hadn’t had the money to buy expensive clothes.
She’d learned to stagger through with ready-made garments and castoffs, and she’d stitched alterations on her own.
The fittings seemed very pretentious, but she wouldn’t complain. Her situation had changed so remarkably that she was now in a spot where Parisian designs and London modistes were the norm, and she was glad of it.
She’d married her husband, Alex, on the spur of the moment with a Special License. At the time, he’d promised she could have a fancy church wedding later on. She’d held him to that promise, and the big date was quickly approaching.
He was very rich, and he spoiled her outrageously. He’d told her to purchase the prettiest wedding gown ever created, and while she wasn’t usually so frivolous, she’d chosen one that was shockingly extravagant, with yards of lace cascading down the skirt and back.
It was taking forever to get it to hang correctly, which was an enormous bother, but she intended to be the most beautiful bride who had ever walked down the aisle in any church. Ever.
She’d once been an earl’s daughter, her parents the Earl and Countess of Middlebury. By having a lavish wedding, an ostentatious wedding, she was honoring them and her ancestors, acting like the elevated daughter she’d been raised to be. She was reminding the world of who she’d been, who her parents had been, who her brother, Hayden, had been.
Most of all, she was thumbing her nose at her cousins, Jasper and Desdemona. She was particularly determined that Desdemona be green with envy over the sumptuous celebration.
A decade earlier, her parents and Hayden had died on their way home from Italy, and Jasper had inherited the earldom. He and Desdemona—mainly Desdemona—had been horrid to Abigail and her sisters, Catherine and Sarah.
They’d insisted her father had been a spendthrift, that their dowries were squandered and there were no funds to support them. Abigail and her sisters had been cast out, had been degraded, humiliated, and forced to work for a living.
They’d even been pressured into hiding their identities, using their mother’s maiden name of Barrington so people wouldn’t realize who they were. It was a galling bit of their history that she would never forgive.
Jasper and Desdemona were incredibly impressed with themselves, were snooty and pretentious, and they’d been despicable custodians of the Middlebury estate. They drank and gambled and never paid their bills. Their reputations for scandal and philandering were shameful, and it was mortifying to admit she was related to them.
Jasper had never been inordinately cruel, but he was henpecked by his wife, and when she’d pushed him to cut Abigail and her sisters loose from the family coffers, he’d agreed without argument. Desdemona reveled in their misfortune and preened over their reversal of stations, and the fact that Abigail was marrying such a wealthy man would constantly incense Desdemona.
Abigail smiled whenever she thought about it.
As the dressmaker and her assistants gathered up their things, she gazed over at the twins.
“Where is Catherine?”
“She’s down in the front parlor,” Mary said. “The butler delivered the mail.”
“The London newspaper is here too,” Millie added. “Aunt Catherine claims you absolutely must see it.”
Abigail wondered what could be so important. She supposed—and hoped—it might be news about her sister, Sarah, who’d run off in the middle of the night with Nicholas Swift-Stone. Abigail had a sneaking suspicion that they’d eloped to Scotland, but no one was sure. They’d all been on pins and needles waiting to hear.
“Give me a minute to tug on my clothes,” Abigail said. “Go down and inform her I’ll be there shortly.”
“Will you let us sit in on your conversation?” Millie asked. “Please? We always miss the best parts.”
“That’s because it’s adult business and not suitable for you.”
“Might it be about Aunt Sarah?” Mary inquired. “The stable boys are laying bets over whether she’s married Mr. Swift or not. If they can wager over it, why can’t we listen in? She’s our aunt.”
“First off”—Abigail’s tone was scolding—“you shouldn’t be loafing with the stable boys.”
“We don’t loaf with them!” Millie declared. “When we have our riding lessons, and they’re chatting with each other, we can’t exactly cover our ears to block out the sound of their voices.”
“And second of all,” Abigail continued, “it’s not appropriate for any of us to be wagering about Sarah—or anyone else for that matter. Wagering is wrong and a sin.”
“Should we tell the stable boys you said so?”
“No, just don’t dawdle out in the stables!”
Abigail shot them an exasperated look, then shooed them out. She motioned to her maid, and they hurried to her dressing room where she would don her most functional clothes. After she dealt with Catherine’s crisis, she had many chores to complete.
Alex’s manor house was huge with dozens of servants, and she was consumed with managing it. It was the precise role she’d been trained to assume, and she was anxious to prove that her deceased mother had taught her the necessary skills.
Rumors could never spread that she was unprepared to be Alex’s wife. Gossip could never slither to Desdemona that Abigail couldn’t handle her position. She’d never give Desdemona the chance to gloat.
Her maid had her ready in a trice, and she went downstairs, following after the twins. They were her brother Hayden’s daughters, sired in an appalling affair with Alex’s first wife, Eugenia.
Abigail had initially traveled to Wallace Downs to be their governess, and she hadn’t known about the affair, hadn’t known Hayden had twin daughters, hadn’t known that Alex Wallace was raising them. Although he wasn’t their father, they’d been conceived during his marriage to Eugenia, so the Church and the courts deemed him to be their parent, which had created a horrendous situation for all concerned.
Alex had divorced Eugenia, and in the beginning, she’d had custody of them, but she was flighty and out of control and couldn’t tend them herself. When they were six, Alex had taken them from her and brought them to Wallace Down, but he hadn’t been very interested in their welfare.
After Abigail arrived, their condition improved dramatically. She’d unraveled their paternity and her connection to them. She’d fallen in love with Alex. She’d soothed many of the demons that had been driving him to wicked behavior.
She and Alex were building a family with Mary and Millie, providing them with the type of stability they’d have had if Hayden had lived to rear them. They were the prettiest girls ever, blond and blue-eyed, like perfect little angels.
They were scamps though. At age nine, they’d spent too many years with no adult supervision. They were very independent, used to having no rules, and wandering off when they shouldn’t. They snooped and spied and eavesdropped to glean details they were desperate to learn.
And of course, with their being identical twins, they constantly had secrets, and they could carry on entire discussions in their minds without having to talk aloud. Abigail was twenty-five, and it was intriguing—and exhausting—to suddenly have become a parent and to have the children be such a fascinating, unusual pair.
She mar
ched down the stairs to the front parlor. Catherine was there with her husband, Christopher. Alex was there too. The men were seated over by the window and furtively peeking at Catherine who was about to explode.
The twins were lurking in the corner, trying to be inconspicuous so they wouldn’t be shooed out.
“What is it?” Abigail asked Catherine. “Please tell me it’s nothing too awful. With the wedding so close, I can’t have a catastrophe arise.”
Alex responded to her comment. “You’d better sit down.”
“Is it that terrible?”
He shrugged. “It just is. It’s too late to call it good or bad.”
She turned to Catherine. “Well?”
“Look at this.”
Catherine shoved the London newspaper under her nose and pointed to an announcement.
“She married him!” Catherine was fuming. “She trotted off and married him—right after we begged her not to and she swore she wouldn’t.”
Abigail scanned the words, disheartened to discover that Sarah had definitely wed Nicholas Swift-Stone.
He was the most shameless, immoral roué in the kingdom. Catherine had witnessed many of his antics in London when she’d still been working there before she’d wed Christopher. She and Abigail had implored Sarah not to proceed. They’d pressured her and scolded her, and Sarah had acted as if she accepted the logic in their arguments.
Then she’d sneaked off with him—despite her claims that she wouldn’t.
He was a handsome devil who’d recently found his very rich mother, Mildred Farnsworth. Three decades earlier, Mildred had been a young maiden, seduced, impregnated, and abandoned by a scoundrel named Robert Stone. Her father had tamped down her scandal by deviously paying a servant to steal away with Nicholas immediately after he was born. Mildred never knew what happened to him and had been searching for him all her life.
Although Robert Stone had fled and left Mildred to face the consequences alone, she was still fond of him, and Mr. Swift had taken his father’s surname as his own.
He was now Nicholas Swift-Stone, as well as Mildred’s heir, so he was in line to inherit a great fortune. Why wouldn’t Sarah be enthralled? Any girl would be. When there was such money in the balance, a female could ignore many sins in a man.
“We figured they had eloped, Catherine,” Abigail said. “This is hardly a shocking revelation.”
“I’m simply depressed. You and I are so happy with our choice of husbands. I wanted the same for her.”
Christopher piped up with, “Nicholas might surprise you.”
“He hasn’t so far,” Catherine caustically retorted.
Alex seemed amused. “It appears he’s a member of the family. The deed is done, so it’s futile to complain.”
“We can complain,” Abigail told him. “She’s our sister. We don’t have to like it.”
“Yes, but if you nag at her,” Alex said, “you’ll stir a big fight right before the wedding, and it would upset you to bicker with her when we should be celebrating.”
“True.”
“At least he married her without hesitation or threat.” Alex flashed a menacing glare at Christopher. “I didn’t have to deliver a sound thrashing in order to convince him to head to the altar.”
“Hey!” Christopher protested. “I was willing to marry Catherine. You didn’t have to beat me to a pulp to ensure I did. You just enjoyed blackening my eye. You did it for sport.”
“Maybe,” Alex admitted, and he smirked.
Millie spoke up, drawing attention to the fact that they were still in the room and listening when they probably shouldn’t be. “Is Mr. Swift a cad and a bounder?”
“No!” Abigail insisted as Catherine insisted, “Yes, absolutely.”
Mary asked, “Will he eventually leave her in the lurch? Isn’t that how cads behave? Will he desert her just when she needs him the most?”
“No!” Abigail cast a withering glower at her sister, warning her to be more circumspect. “Mr. Swift-Stone is very nice, and we shouldn’t forget that he’s Mildred’s son.” Mildred had become a sort of grandmother to the twins. “How could any child of Mildred’s be horrid?”
“You’re correct, Aunt Abigail,” Millie loyally stated. “If he’s Mildred’s son, then I shall always love him.”
“The twins told me we received a letter,” Abigail said.
She spun to Catherine, and Catherine handed it over.
“It’s from Sarah,” Catherine said. “After I saw the announcement in the paper, I couldn’t force myself to read it. Will you read it for me?”
Abigail flicked at the seal and perused the words, then she glanced around, including all of them. “Sarah says she is very sorry she couldn’t do as we demanded, but she’s simply too fond of Nicholas and couldn’t refuse him. She knows we’re disappointed, and she hopes we can forgive her someday.”
“Of course we can,” Mary said.
“I’ve forgiven her already,” Millie said. “Actually, I was never angry with her in the first place.”
Abigail didn’t reply to the comment, but kept on. “They had a fast trip to Scotland. The weather was good, the roads dry. They’re back in England, and they’re staying at Mildred’s house outside London.”
Catherine staggered over to a nearby sofa and plopped down. She was very glum, and Abigail smiled at her.
“It’s over, Catherine.”
“Yes, it is,” she morosely concurred.
“We have to be happy for Sarah, and we have to figure out how to like Mr. Swift-Stone.”
“Deep down, he’s a decent fellow,” Christopher claimed. They’d been friends at school when they were boys.
“You would say that,” Catherine grumbled.
“And we have to learn how to like him very quickly,” Abigail advised all of them.
“Why?”
“They’d like to visit Wallace Downs. I can’t think of a reason we’d decline to invite them—unless we intend to quarrel with her about it.”
“I don’t want to quarrel,” Catherine hastily said.
“Neither do I,” Abigail agreed.
Alex was still smirking. “I guess I have a new brother-in-law.”
“Should you ask them to be in the wedding with you?” Millie said.
Catherine and Christopher had married in a hurry too, and they were repeating their vows during the ceremony with Abigail and Alex. On hearing Millie’s question, Catherine looked as if she might faint.
“Ask them to be in the wedding?”
“Yes.” Millie cheerfully pushed the idea. “If you’re having a double wedding, why not a triple one?”
Alex bit down a snort of mirth. “She’s got you there, Abigail. Why not a triple wedding?”
Abigail reeled over and eased down next to Catherine. The twins were excited, the two husbands mischievous and annoying, Catherine dejected.
What choice was there really?
Abigail was an optimist. When she’d met Alex, he’d been scandal-ridden, and she’d already improved him in a thousand ways. She would pray Sarah had the same effect on Mr. Swift-Stone, and they all had to remember that Mildred was his mother.
Mildred brooked no nonsense and didn’t suffer fools. If he ever misbehaved, she’d order him to shape up and act appropriately. Perhaps they didn’t need to worry about Sarah so much. She was rich and settled—and content with her decision. What could go wrong?
“I’ll write to her immediately,” Abigail said. “I’ll tell her to come and to bring Mr. Swift-Stone and Mildred with her.”
“Will you mention about her being in the wedding too?” Millie asked.
Abigail smiled wanly. “I’ll discuss it with her when she arrives.”
“She’ll say yes,” Mary replied. “Who wouldn’t want to be in a triple wedding?”
“Who indeed?”
Abigail went to her desk in the corner and pulled out a piece of paper.
&n
bsp; Though she struggled to find the proper tone—she couldn’t sound too chirpy or Sarah would know she was lying—she managed to state that she was glad for her sister, that she was certain her marriage would turn out for the best, and that Sarah, Nicholas, and her mother-in-law, Mildred, should travel to Wallace Downs without delay.
* * * *
Jasper Henley, Earl of Middlebury, signed his name with a flourish. He didn’t bother to look at the amount recorded on the promissory note. It didn’t matter how much he owed. He would never pay it, and who could make him pay? The paltry owner of a gambling club could never collect against a peer of the realm.
He was an avid gambler. He’d be the first to admit it, but when he lost money, it was so much fun to see if he could win it back. Often, he felt almost sick with how fervidly he liked to wager. And a man had to play. If he didn’t, he’d be scorned and derided as a laughingstock.
It was probably time to depart, and he stood and headed for the door. There was no penalty for racking up enormous sums, but he wasn’t a rude person. He wouldn’t rub the proprietor’s nose in it. He’d go to the club down the street and try his luck there. Or he might proceed on to the theater. There was a new comedy opening, and several people had invited him to sit with them.
As he entered the lobby to retrieve his cloak and hat, the butler whispered in his ear that the owner needed a word before he left. Jasper couldn’t bear to chat with the boring dunce, but he’d run up a small fortune. It would be vulgar to snub him.
He was led down the hall to the man’s office, and the conversation only took a minute. He stormed out, and he was more livid than he’d ever been.
His membership temporarily suspended! His privileges temporarily revoked!
Apparently, there was a rule about how much debt could be accrued. Once the limit was reached, he was kicked to the curb.
Oh, the horror! Oh, the shame! There’d never been a commoner with such gall, and he wondered if he could have the place shut down. It would serve the cheeky man right.
He stomped out, vowing to never grace the pathetic establishment with his grand presence ever again.
