Abigail was all about quick, efficient motion, affectionate hugs and peals of joyous laughter. This silent, immobilized form wasn’t the woman he had cared for practically his entire life. That woman was somewhere else, somewhere he wasn’t sure he could reach, even though the doctors swore that his words might penetrate the thick fog of unconsciousness.
Riley knew all about his well-publicized international reputation as a daring adventurer, a man who would risk anything for the sheer thrill of it, a man widely regarded as fearless. Right at this moment, though, he realized that nothing he’d ever done, no risk he’d ever taken, could possibly be measured against the sight of Abby so still and lifeless. Nothing in his past had prepared him for the gut-clenching, all-invasive fear he felt right now.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he pleaded, his fingers curled around hers. “It’s time to wake up. I’m here waiting for you.”
She didn’t react by so much as the flicker of an eyelid.
“Come on,” he said more insistently. “I need you back with me. I promise, if you’ll just come back, that nothing bad will ever happen to you again.”
He took a deep breath and forced himself to mention the man waiting for her back in Arizona. Perhaps Martin’s name would draw her back as his presence here had not. She must love the man. She had agreed to marry him.
“You have to hurry up and get well so you can go home and marry Martin,” he coaxed. “The wedding’s not that far off, is it?”
Suddenly wistful, he said softly, “I can just picture you as a bride. You’ll be beautiful, Abby. The most beautiful bride ever.”
* * *
A bride. The word came to Abby as if from a great distance, but for some reason it made her heart thud with dread. Just the thought of getting married made the usually fearless Abigail want to run away from home. In fact, she thought that was exactly what she had done. She struggled to reason it out, all the while hearing the taunt that the marriage to Martin was imminent.
“I can’t,” she murmured restlessly.
“Can’t do what?” an unfamiliar voice asked.
“I cannot marry Martin,” she said more firmly.
The remark drew a startled gasp. “Of course, you can. You must, Abby. You know perfectly well the earl is counting on it.”
The earl? The voice, brisk and feminine, startled her almost as much as that reference to a titled gentleman. Abby blinked, then blinked again, unable to believe the scene spread out before her. It appeared she’d awakened from a nap smack in the middle of an English country garden, precisely the kind she’d always dreamed of planting. Roses scented the air. Wildflowers bloomed in profusion. And in the distance she could see what very definitely was not her family’s small, Spanish-style home in Arizona. In fact, this house looked like some ancient, sprawling English manor house.
She drew in a deep breath and tried to remain calm. How the devil had she gotten here? The last thing she remembered was...what?
She shifted slightly, searching for the source of the feminine voice that had been so admonishing. What she found was a lovely young woman no more than eighteen with blond hair and a perfect peaches-and-cream complexion. Her face was shaded by a bonnet. A bonnet? More striking was the demure gown of sprigged muslin that reached all the way to her booted toes. She looked as if she’d been costumed for the cover of one of those Regency romances Abby’s younger sister read by the hundreds.
Abby began to get a very bad feeling about this, even before she glanced down and saw that she was wearing a pale blue dress that was every bit as proper and outdated as her companion’s.
“You know Martin?” she asked cautiously, searching for a frame of reference.
“Of course I do, silly.”
“Then you must see that I cannot marry him.”
“Whyever not? He’s rich. He has a title.”
Obviously they were not talking about the same Martin, Abby decided. She supposed her fianc;aae was reasonably well-to-do, but titled? Not a chance. He was a liberal Democrat, for goodness’ sake.
“Tell me what you see when you look at him,” she suggested.
“You know perfectly well what he looks like. Of course, he may not be the most handsome man on the marriage mart this Season, and he may be a trifle old, but everyone knows he’s the very best catch. Mama was saying, just last night, how terribly lucky you are that your father was able to arrange this marriage before some other woman captured his attention.”
Abby had no idea where she was or how she’d gotten there, but she did have very definite opinions about marrying for anything other than love. “This whole concept of arranged marriages is pure rubbish,” she declared emphatically. “I would never agree to such a marriage.”
The younger woman’s eyes widened with shock. “But what will you tell your papa?” she asked. “Isn’t he set on the match? Hasn’t he already told the earl that you will marry him? No doubt their men of affairs are already working out the details.”
“Well, my father will just have to find some way to explain that a mistake has been made,” Abigail said, every bit as stubbornly as if this were her real marriage they were talking about, rather than some odd dream she seemed to be caught up in.
“I’ve made up my mind,” she declared. “I shall marry a great adventurer, someone who has seen the world. I shall never marry a man who will surely insist that I spend the rest of my days at some moldering old country estate. I shall die from the tedium, I’m sure.”
“And how will you meet this grand adventurer?” her companion asked, clearly fascinated by Abby’s spark of rebellion. “Your papa knows no such gentlemen, does he?”
She thought about it, but could think of none. Could think of very little, if the truth be told. “None have ever come to call, that’s true enough,” Abby lamented. “The only men to visit have been every bit as stuffy and dull as the earl.”
“Then where did you get the crazy notion of marrying a man such as this? From those books you’ve read, no doubt.” Her friend regarded her worriedly. “Abby, I’ve told you often enough that those books were going to be your downfall. Ladies shouldn’t read such things. I’m sure it’s all of your unusual ideas that have intimidated all of the suitable gentleman in past Seasons.”
Not read books? How did any woman ever survive such a ridiculous notion. “Nonsense. How else is a person to learn anything?”
“A lady needs only to play the piano a little, perhaps sing or paint, and eventually run an efficient household. That’s what my mama says,” the younger girl insisted, taking on a prim demeanor Abby suspected was entirely too reminiscent of this mother she was so fond of quoting.
“Then perhaps you should marry Martin Henry,” Abby suggested wickedly. “I think you would be most suited. I could suggest that to your papa. Perhaps if the earl finds favor with you, I will be free to go my own way.”
“In disgrace,” the girl said. “Your papa would never forgive you if you did something to spoil his plans.”
Abby didn’t see that living out her days in disgrace would be much worse than marrying a man who would disapprove of everything she said and did. How dreadful it would be to have her imagination and her will stifled at every turn! She was beginning to feel a great sympathy for this Abigail in her dream. Perhaps she could help her out before she woke up.
Her companion was correct in one thing, though. It would be far better if this earl were the one to call off the match, if only to protect his male pride. He would have to do it soon, too, before the wedding plans were too far along. Abby fell silent, concentrating on her scheme.
What would make a man like Martin Henry turn his back on a young, pretty woman with satisfactory breeding and a modest dowry? Obviously he hadn’t been seeking a great fortune in the first place or he would never have spoken for her hand. Was he so very rich that such things didn’t matter? Or were there other more dire reasons for seeking out a woman whose chances of marriage had dwindled over the course of several London social Sea
sons?
“What do you suppose it might take to get him to call things off?” she wondered aloud.
“Abby, what are you thinking?”
“Come now, help me. Who do you know who has managed to extricate themselves from an unfortunate betrothal?”
Her companion looked thoughtful. “There was Margaret Heatherington. Surely you recall what everyone was whispering behind her back.”
“No, I don’t believe I do,” she said in what had to be the most massive understatement she’d ever uttered. She recalled absolutely nothing of import at the moment.
“It was perfectly scandalous,” the younger girl said with an unmistakable air of hushed excitement. Clearly she relished the telling of the tale.
“She was to marry Lord Dancy. Everyone said so, even though there had been no official betrothal. Instead, Margaret was carried off to Yorkshire, where she was apparently wed to a totally unsuitable gentleman no one had ever heard of. Among the Ton the word was that Margaret and the gentleman in question had been discovered in a very compromising position by Lord Dancy himself. Quite naturally there was no engagement. The rest of the rumor had it that Margaret couldn’t be more blissful, even though she has been thoroughly disgraced.”
Abby’s eyes lit up. “Perfect,” she said.
“Oh, no. I do not like that gleam in your eyes one little bit,” her companion said. “You’re not going to do something thoroughly outrageous, are you?”
Abby didn’t know where she was or why, but she could see that she’d better deal rather aggressively with the situation in which she found herself. Perhaps this odd situation was some sort of test of her ingenuity.
“Yes, I do believe I am going to do something perfectly outrageous, beginning as soon as possible.”
“At the Foxworths’ house party?” her friend asked, sounding dismayed and a little breathless with anticipation at the same time. “Oh, I do so hope Papa will agree to allow us to go. I wouldn’t want to miss what happens for all the world.”
Abby could hardly wait to see how things turned out herself.
CHAPTER THREE
Inside the unfamiliar house Abby felt like an intruder. She crept up the wide staircase hoping she could locate her room without anyone being the wiser. She figured she had better get her bearings in a hurry, if she was going to go through with this unexpected charade.
Unfortunately, the house appeared to have more bedrooms than a Holiday Inn. It was also cold and drafty. She hoped her wardrobe contained warmer clothes than she had on or she was going to freeze her butt off. Spending a lifetime in Arizona had obviously thinned her blood. This entire fantastical episode seemed a little too real. It was starting to lose its charm.
Poking her head into one room after another, she finally found one that contained what appeared to be a lot of feminine frippery. She decided it had to be hers, even though she would have paid several guineas or whatever the going rate of exchange was for a pair of jeans and a sweater.
Tugging off her unfamiliar, tight shoes, she climbed onto the high, soft bed and pulled the thick, luxurious covers around her. Perhaps what she needed was a good, long rest. Maybe she’d wake up back in Arizona, where she belonged.
* * *
“How is she?” Jared asked Riley, holding out a cup of steaming coffee.
Riley waved the coffee away. He rubbed his burning eyes. “Not good. She hasn’t come around at all. The doctors claim they’re optimistic, but I can see they’re worried. Her head injury didn’t seem that severe. She should have regained consciousness long ago. Instead, she seems to be slipping deeper and deeper into a coma.”
He stood up and walked over to the window, which looked out onto a tiny stretch of garden filled with bright red flowers. Hummingbirds hovered over the blossoms. Abby would have been enchanted. She loved plants. In fact, she’d always talked wistfully of living someplace where she could have one of those untamed English country gardens with its haphazard bursts of color, rather than a patch of prickly cacti. Her repeated attempts to create just such a garden had failed dismally, though, either due to Arizona’s unrelenting heat and harsh sun or to her own black thumb. Riley had always been too kind to suggest it was the latter as much as the former.
“Have you gotten any sleep?” Jared asked, drawing him back to the present.
“A few minutes, off and on.”
“I could sit with her awhile, if you want to go to the hotel and clean up a bit, maybe get some rest, some food. I’ve reserved us rooms at a place just up the street.”
Riley shook his head. “I can’t leave her. Something could change. I don’t want her to wake up and be all alone.”
“She wouldn’t be all alone. I’d be here.”
“No, it has to be me,” he replied impatiently, then promptly felt guilty for barking at Jared, when his friend had only meant to help. “Sorry. I guess the lack of sleep is catching up with me. How’s Manuel?”
“The doctors say he’ll make a full recovery. He’s already anxious to get back to work. He’s afraid we’ll leave here without him.”
Riley sighed. “Not much chance of that. Look, I’m sorry about the search. I can’t say when we’ll get back to it. If you need to go to Mexico City or want to go on alone, I’ll understand. I’ll call my people in the capital and make the arrangements for you to take my place.”
“No way. I’ll hang out here with you. We made a deal to find this site together and we will.”
Riley nodded, grateful for the professional loyalty, even more grateful for the show of friendship.
Jared regarded him sympathetically. “I’ll go get you something to eat, okay?”
“There’s no need. The nurses have brought me trays, then clucked like a bunch of old hens when I didn’t touch the food. I have no appetite.”
Jared grinned. “Hey, I’m not surprised. I know what hospital food is like in the States. It’s bound to be even worse here. I’ll bring you something with some taste to it. You have to eat. It won’t do Abby any good if you collapse.”
“Whatever,” Riley said, moving back to Abby’s side. He was barely aware of it when Jared left the room. He picked up her icy hand and held it between his own, trying to warm it.
“You know what I was just thinking about, Abby? Your high school prom. Remember that night? You were all dressed up in that sexy emerald gown. I was just out of college. I guess I hadn’t realized that you’d gone and grown up on me, because I was blown away by the way you looked. I probably didn’t tell you that, though. As I recall, I spent most of the night tongue-tied and speechless. You probably noticed, didn’t you? I’ll bet you don’t know why, though.”
He lifted her hand and pressed his lips against the bruised knuckles, proof of his theory that she’d probably landed a couple of solid blows against her attackers. He smiled. “I was so afraid that night that if I dared to open my mouth, I’d tell you how special you were to me. My roommate had just killed himself a few weeks before and, after losing my parents and Aunt Nell, I was convinced that I was bad news for anyone I cared about. I was afraid if I said what I was feeling out loud, something awful would happen to you. Crazy, huh?”
He sighed. “Not so crazy, now that I think about it. Just look what’s happened the very first time you and I go on a trip together. You’re beaten up and shot by a bunch of thugs and land in a hospital. That’s gotta be my doing, right?”
Her silence seemed to confirm his dim view of himself. Because he couldn’t take much more of the guilt, he forced himself to think only of the memories, the night of the prom, for instance. Maybe if he could weave the magic of that night aloud he could lure her back.
“Do you have any idea how I felt the first time you stepped into my arms on the dance floor?” he asked softly. “I had never once allowed myself to even think about holding you like that. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.”
He grinned ruefully. “Unfortunately, most of the night they were playing fast tunes. Abby, you had the most amazing
, graceful moves. I guess even without those ballet lessons you wanted so badly, you developed the grace of a dancer. You took my breath away. Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I can still hear the music.”
* * *
They were playing a waltz. In some circles the waltz was still considered scandalous, but Abby loved it. She stood in the Foxworths’ ballroom, waiting to see who would come to claim her hand. Surrounded by people she should have recognized, but didn’t, she was filled with an odd mixture of tension and excitement. As dreams went, this one wasn’t turning out too badly, after all, though she still couldn’t quite believe how real it seemed. Nor did she entirely understand why she never woke up from it. Events just kept unreeling, the mundane along with the extraordinary, exactly like life.
The past few days had been uncomfortable, but she hadn’t made any dreadful mistakes with her family. She’d expected to be tossed out on her backside when they caught the first glimpse of her, but it hadn’t happened. For some reason, they seemed to have absolutely no idea that she didn’t belong there.
She rather liked her mother, a pretty woman whose hair was every bit as dark as Abby’s and whose face remained unlined. She had a pleasant, compassionate demeanor that Abby found comforting. She’d been tempted on more than one occasion to confess to her that she was an imposter. She was certain that Lady Briarcliff would have understood, maybe helped her to get back to her own century. What kept her from it was the fear that she would have been held accountable for the disappearance of the real Abigail, if not by Lady Briarcliff, then certainly by her starchy husband.
John Albert Dennison, the Earl of Briarcliff, was opinionated, overbearing and rigid. He hadn’t smiled once in all the time Abby had spent in the house. There might have been the faintest hint of a smile when Martin Henry, the Earl of Drake’s, name had been mentioned, but beyond that all her father seemed concerned with was the breeding of his beloved horses. He spent more time in the stables than he did inside, which was just as well to her way of thinking. If he’d been around too much, she would have been very tempted to say exactly what was on her mind, and ruined forever the image he clung to of his proper daughter.
Riley's Sleeping Beauty Page 3
