Abigail's Secret (A Whimsical Select Romance Novella)

by Ternie, Tamara

  Brice looked at Abigail and hesitated a moment before he sat. Abigail wondered if he was waiting for her to show an equal amount of appreciation for the gift he had brought to her. She was still determined not to give it.

  John, their trusted butler of ten years stood near Tess and patiently waited to gain her notice. He was a young and handsome man with dark brown eyes and hair and recently celebrated his thirtieth birthday. Although aware of Tess’s true identity, he offered her the same degree of excessive attention that the men in town presented while posing as Abigail. He had taken an instant shine to her. It made Abigail smile at the thought of what Tess’s future may hold while there. Perhaps she’d snag a true suitor of her own.

  “Miss Large,” he said to Tess after she and Brice finished their conversation on the quality of products offered in Mecklenburg. He lifted a large overflowing basket from the floor that held all the calling cards which had been sent to their home. “The staff wanted to know if you’d rather manage this yourself or if they should send the acceptances and regrets in your stead.”

  “Oh dear,” she exclaimed. “There’s not enough time in a year to receive all these callers.”

  “Even a year wouldn’t be efficient time,” Thomas added. He sifted his hand through the cards. “But it does give me an idea.”

  Abigail glanced at Brice from the corner of her eye. He looked worried and she wondered if he was pondering the amount of competition within the basket of names that stood between him and her dowry.

  “It’s an idea that I’m certain you’ll all readily approve.” He looked at Brice. “And despite your position in this courting game, I believe you’ll support this endeavor as well.”

  “Then by all means share it with the rest of us,” Tess chimed in. “I’m eager to know.”

  “I’m sure the men who are vying for you can agree that the numbers are great in rivaling for your hand. Surely no one can expect you to receive all the callers who request an audience with you.”

  “I should hope not,” Abigail said. She leafed through the cards and perused the names of the gentlemen who were bidding for her time and affection. “Many of these men I’d not give the time of day, let alone an hour of my time.” She gave ladylike snorts to many of the names she saw as she perused the cards. Numerous of the men had treated her dreadfully while she was growing up. She couldn’t believe they had the gumption to beg for her affections now. “The gall of you all,” she murmured. She realized she had gathered Brice’s attention and she pitched the cards back into the basket and returned to her seat.

  “I suggest we arrange a raffle,” Thomas said, finally revealing his idea. “We can charge half a dollar per ticket and the winner receive a reception with Abigail, as well as escort her to a barbeque we’ll put on here after the drawing.”

  “Oh, that’s horrible, Thomas!” Abigail pursed her lips. “Certainly your coffers haven’t reached so low that you need to resort to such lengths for money.”

  “Of course not,” Thomas said and waved her off. “We’ll distribute the takings to the needy women and children of the South who had lost their husband and fathers during the war.”

  “What a splendid idea,” Tess called out and clapped her hands together. “I shall very much enjoy that day of courting.”

  “Bully for you, Thomas,” Brice praised. “Indeed, that is a very honorable gesture.” He turned to Tess and reached for her hand. “It’s also quite generous of you in offering your time for such a cause.”

  “Then it’s agreed. I shall make a public announcement of it on the morrow. We’ll hold the raffle and barbeque next Sunday. That’s nearly a week to peddle the tickets.”

  The dinner bell rang out and they congregated to the outdoor garden to take their sup. The evening breeze was refreshing and it was what prompted them to dine amidst the rose gardens that were in full bloom. A round table was formally set with their finest bone china and crystal. Abigail chose to take her seat across from Brice. Although he frequently irritated her, she had to admit that he was equally as handsome as he was charming, but until she figured out if she wanted Brice’s hand in marriage, she wanted to keep her distance. Although her childhood love for him still remained, he wasn’t that same person she adored many years ago. As she, they had both grown into adults with different attitudes and ideals. Abigail was still in debate whether those changes, good and bad, made him worth pursuing. In Abigail’s way of thinking, he should be thankful. After the way he discarded her before she fled Mecklenburg, it’s a miracle that she’d consider him at all. She brushed the memory aside. She couldn’t allow herself to think about that time.

  They heard voices and laughter in the distance from many men who had made their way to town and chose to camp at the edge their lands. Until she made her choice of a suitor, Abigail suspected that they’d remain squatters on their property.

  Save for Thomas, they had all been seated at that table and began conversing about the town’s chatter in relation to Abigail Large’s arrival. They were all amid laughter when Tess said that she was absolutely certain she viewed a female dressed as a man in the crowd rivaling for her attention.

  That’s when the shot rang out.

  Abigail looked on in horror as Brice’s black dinner jacket formed a growing circle of dampened blood upon his shoulder. He looked stunned for a moment as if he was trying to ascertain what had just occurred. Indeed, they all were dumbfounded by the startling event. Yet it was Brice who first rose from his seat, and quick as powder he grabbed Abigail’s arm and thrust her toward the door and to the safety of the house. He whirled around to help Thomas and Tess but another shot rang out and a bullet whizzed above his head and met the awning above.

  “What in the blazes is going on?” Thomas shouted.

  “Grab her arm,” Brice ordered.

  With all the fretful excitement, Tess had caught a case of the vapors and swooned in the settee that was brought out to accommodate her size. Abigail, fearing for Tess’s safety, returned outside and helped the men retrieve her.

  “Get back in the house,” Brice shouted at her.

  “You’ve been shot,” Abigail exclaimed. “You can’t possibly believe that you two can carry her on your own.” Abigail didn’t wait for him to dispute her. There wasn’t time for it, and that was made clear when another shot rang out and shattered a Venetian goblet that sat on the table. Brice used his body to shield and protect Abigail when she knelt down to Tess. She placed a couple hard taps against her cheeks and hoped to rouse her awake. “You need to wake up,” she ordered.

  Tess opened her eyes and smiled sweetly at Abigail. Being overcome from fainting, she had forgotten about their dire circumstances. Yet when another shot rang out, Tess was sorely reminded and jumped from her seat and quavered upon her feet when she tried to gather her balance. Abigail led the way and Thomas and Brice took Tess by the arms and guided her to the house.

  Brice retrieved the quilt that was inside the sitting room where they earlier sat, and he gently placed it on Tess’s lap. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” she said with a breath of relief. Her smile broadened and she reached for his hand. “You dear, sweet man, you saved me.” She then noticed the blood that was seeping into his clothing and exposed the existence of the wound beneath. She pointed and began to speak but the vapors had made their way to inflict upon her gentle senses again.

  John rushed to the room and ran to Thomas. He caught a glimpse of Tess and gasped. “Is she—?”

  “She’s fine. She just fainted,” Abigail assured.

  “Should I gather the housemen to go after the assailant?”

  “I’m not hearing anymore shots or seeing anyone out there. He’s probably long gone by now,” Thomas said as he cautiously peered out through the window panes.

  Abigail looked at Brice and the blood on his jacket appeared to increase in size. She raised her hand to her mouth and stifled a gasp.

  “Fetch me the medicine bag, bandages, and fresh wat
er,” she ordered to John. “Take your jacket and shirt off, Brice,” she added, and led him to a chair.

  “I’m fine, Abilene. It’s only a flesh wound,” he countered. “I saw much worse during the war.”

  “I’ll not hear arguments.” She pointed at the chair and silently commanded him to sit.

  “If you feel you must tend to my wound, then I’m going to have to insist we take it to the other room.” He nodded his head toward Tess. “I don’t believe poor Abigail can handle another swoon.”

  He was right. For such a strong woman she had very weak sensibilities. Abigail looked at Tess. Guilt ate at her gut for involving her in their hasty scheme. She could have been killed. For that matter, they all could have been slain out on the terrace.

  “Can you watch out for her, John,” Abigail asked as she retrieved the supplies from him.

  “It’d be my pleasure.” He knelt down to Tess and took her hand into his.

  She led Brice into a spare bedroom on the other side of the kitchens. It had become her mother’s room when she had taken ill with melancholy and hadn’t the energy or inclination to take the stairs. A chair sat beneath the vanity and she pulled it out. “Sit,” she gently ordered.

  Brice gritted his teeth when he gently shrugged his jacket off. Abigail rushed to his side to help him. “Is it paining you that much?”

  “That and then some,” he grimaced.

  “The bullet may have hit the bone,” she feared. “Perhaps we should wait for a physician to be called,” she said as Brice began to unbutton his shirt.

  “It went straight through and missed the bone. No need to call and disturb the doc at this late hour.” He slid out of his white cotton shirt and tossed it on the other side of the room. It landed atop the floral coverlet that was spread across her mother’s four poster bed that lay beneath a foliate carved canopy held up by ornately engraved supporters.

  Abigail stood frozen and unable to proceed. Although she initially wanted to admonish him for throwing his blood soiled clothing onto the clean bed, she found herself in awe over his masculinity. It dazed her into silence. She had never seen a man in such a state of nakedness. His chest was broad and tapered down into a well-defined stomach. He looked to have been molded from clay by an artisan who favored perfection. Abigail silently ordered herself to breathe.

  “Abilene,” Brice softly called out to her and sufficiently pulled her from her musings. “Are you all right?” In two steps he had closed in on her and reached for her hand. “You look pale.” He guided her to the bed and sat her down. Still holding onto her hand, he knelt down in front of her. Brice glanced at his shoulder that was smeared ghastly red with blood. “Truly, it’s barely a flesh wound. Surely nothing so great that you and Abigail should find need to swoon for,” he grinned.

  She wasn’t sure which was worse; Brice believing she was fragile and hindered by a poor constitution, or the thought of what he would say or do if he knew she was woolgathering over his virility. She didn’t need to ponder it long. He didn’t afford her the time to do so. Brice sat next to her on the bed and her mouth went dry. She felt her breath start to labor and heart raced in wild secessions when Brice caressed her hands within his.

  “I dare say,” Brice said concerned, “I believe you are going to faint.” He released her hands and cupped her face with his strong, warm hands. “We shall call for one of your maids to dress this wound. I believe it’d be best if you lie down and rest.” He scooped her into his arms and laid her out onto the bed. He leaned over her and their eyes met. At first he looked startled but his face softened and he smiled down at her. They looked at one another for a spell, and it was well longer than what society would deem proper. But there was something sweet and gentle in the way he caressed her with his stare and Abigail was reluctant to look away. Brice lowered his head and his lips verged on touching hers.

  She was so mesmerized by Brice that she hadn’t heard Thomas enter the room. Her brother hemmed and loudly cleared his throat and made his presence known. Abigail guiltily jumped from the bed.

  “We weren’t doing anything improper,” she rushed out.

  “You’re an unmarried woman who is laying in a bed with a half-naked and nearly betrothed man, my dear. That is the epitome of impropriety.”

  Her cheeks heated in a blush. Although Thomas gave a hint of a smile, she didn’t find any relief from her embarrassment. Abigail quickly gathered the linens and water and started working on the task that had sent her into the room from the start. “I’ll be done here shortly,” Abigail supplied.

  Thomas looked at Brice. “Tess asked me to check on her, ‘dear Mister Winslow.’” He imitated Tess’s honeyed voice which was more soothing than listening to breezes rustle the tree leaves. “After today’s events and your gallantry, I can’t imagine her choosing anyone else to take her hand,” Thomas said. “She is beyond smitten by you now.”

  Brice sat up a little more erect. “Is that so?” he amusingly asked and smiled. “I’ll go to her as soon as Abilene is done here.”

  Abigail reached into the medicine bag and retrieved the carbolic acid. She saturated his wound with the stringent liquid and Brice nearly flinched so hard that he jumped from his seat. He sucked in a deep breath.

  “By God, Abilene, you did that on purpose,” he said between tightly clenched teeth.

  “Quit bellyaching and sit still, Brice,” she chided. Abigail finished wrapping his wound, which was as Brice stated, a flesh wound that hadn’t penetrated the bone. Despite being annoyed with him, she was relieved it wasn’t worse.

  Brice reached for his shirt and dressed. “It’s getting late. Best if I say my farewells to Abigail and head back home.”

  “Be careful,” Thomas warned.

  His gaze met Abigail and he looked catawampusly chewed up. Brice observed her for a dreadfully long time and Abigail wondered if he was ruminating about what she did with the carbolic acid or thinking about their near kiss. She was beginning to believe he was just as displeased with her by both. It was then she realized that that it was going to be a hard row to hoe if she was going to win Brice’s heart.

  Abigail considered telling him the truth. She wanted to remove all the deception between them as well as prevent another attack that may prove more fatal. But before she had the chance to cleanse the air, Brice walked out the door.

  “So what are your thoughts on what transpired this evening?” she asked Thomas.

  “I believe someone wants to eliminate the biggest competition.”

  “I agree. It’s best if we just end this charade, Thomas. I never imagined something so dreadful could come of it.”

  “There’s no need to go to such lengths due to this evening’s events. I’ll send some inquires and I’m sure we’ll get to the bottom of who was responsible for tonight.”

  “I believe we’re getting nowhere with this plan. As you undoubtedly viewed upon entering, there was a tender moment shared between Brice and myself, but the instant you reminded him of Tess and my dowry, he couldn’t leave the room fast enough.”

  Thomas smiled. “Indeed, he did.” He walked to her and gently wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “But who was the first person he saw to safety when that first shot rang out? It wasn’t the one he thought held his fortune, was it?”

  Indeed it wasn’t, Abigail appreciated. Perhaps she’d give Brice a few more days before determining his lack of worthiness in receiving her heart.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Four days had passed and Abigail hadn’t seen hide or hair of Brice Winslow. She discreetly inquired in town but no had seen him in days. She had planned on checking several other businesses that he may have frequented, but with the crowds in town for the Abigail Affair, she couldn’t make her way pass the thresholds without waiting in line. Instead, she took her concerns to Thomas, but as the shopkeepers had done, he brushed her worries off as unnecessary although he’d nearly been killed days before. Thomas tried to convince her that Brice was seeing to his labors, re
minding her that he had a responsibility to his plantation. Yet despite his lack of concern, Abigail fretted over his wellbeing. Although the Winslow Corn Plantation sat outside the city and was a good twenty minute ride, Abigail set to the task of making her way there.

  The lane that led to his modest farmhouse was narrow and framed on either side by overgrown stalks of corn. From the distance, Abigail saw a Conestoga wagon pulled in front of his home. She wondered if perhaps he had guests who arrived from out of town or if Brice Winslow decided to pull stakes and leave Mecklenburg.

  Abigail gnawed on her bottom lip and questioned whether she should have come. After all, the last she saw Brice he had nearly kissed her. What if he thought her true intent was for the purpose of receiving it now? The thought made her consider turning her rig around and set back home. She gently pulled back the reigns and slowed her horses to a stop. She looked toward his house and saw Brice near the wagon fiddling with the canvas cover. A young woman ran to Brice just as Abigail had made the wavering decision to make her way to him. The woman was slender and dressed in a modern blue walking dress that perfectly fit her curves. Even the black laced ruffles that tiered down her back couldn’t hide the woman’s shapeliness. Although Abigail was nearly as thin as the woman, she couldn’t help but begrudge the woman for her size due to habit. The woman jumped into Brice’s arms and Abigail glared at the happy couple before her. The blue ribbons on the woman’s straw hat flowed in the air as Brice twirled her around in his arms. After a moment, they stopped and hugged. She expected the anger but not the sickening feeling within the pit of her stomach. Not only did she feel betrayed, but she felt for Tess’s unwarranted disapproval as well.

  “You scoundrel,” she harshly whispered under her breath. The lane was narrow and Abigail knew it’d be a difficult task to turn her wagon around, especially unseen and unheard. There was no doubt that she’d take quite a few of his corn stalks with her in the process. But she didn’t care. She couldn’t face him. Seeing him with another woman so intimately reminded her of the horrible events that occurred prior to her leaving Mecklenburg. And here he was, again, making a fool out of her. “Not this time, Mister Winslow,” she muttered. She slapped the reins onto the horses’ backs and hoped that they’d equal her determination in wanting to hastily leave.