Gifford's Lady

by Claire Thornton

  Abigail's stomach fluttered with nervousness. She had expected Gifford's brother to be a daunting man, and he was. His wife also rose to greet them. Abigail blinked. She was hardly able to credit that this fragile, almost ethereal lady had been able to carry a man on her back. She was a few inches taller than Abigail, blonde, slender and graceful, despite the fact that she was clearly with child.

  Abigail immediately felt clumsy and dumpy—and rather dowdy in her well-worn companion's clothes. Perhaps she should have worn one of Miss Wyndham's dresses, but it was too late to worry about it now.

  'Miss Summers, my fiancee,' Gifford introduced her.

  Abigail curtsied nervously, then shook hands with Major Raven and his wife. She saw that both of them were studying her with surprised interest, but no hostility.

  'How do you do?' she said. 'I am so pleased to meet you both, but I am afraid there is a small misapprehension. I am not...that is, Sir Gifford has very

  kindly...most graciously...asked me to marry him. But...but I have not yet given him my reply.'

  She held her breath after she'd finished speaking, worried that she had been unnecessarily honest, but Gifford's introduction had aggravated her. Despite the high price he had bid for her, he did not own her, and she didn't like the idea that he would try to force her into marriage by acting as if it was already agreed.

  Cole's eyebrows shot up. He glanced curiously at his brother's angry, closed expression and a smile twitched his lips.

  'I see you're starting as you mean to go on,' he said to Abigail, a gleam in his blue eyes. 'It's important to show a balky animal who is master right from the beginning.'

  'Cole!' Honor exclaimed, shocked. 'Pay no attention to him,' she adjured Abigail. 'He spent many years in the cavalry before he joined the 52nd. Sometimes it still influences his language. You must be tired after your journey. Won't you sit down?'

  'Thank you.' Abigail perched on the edge of a chair, anxiously aware of Gifford's glowering bad humour and Cole's poorly disguised amusement. She struggled to think of something to say which might lighten the mood. 'The journey wasn't tiring,' she assured them. 'The carriage was so comfortable, and we came by easy stages.'

  'No doubt Giff wanted to enjoy the scenery,' said Cole blandly. 'He has been out of England for many years, you know?'

  'Yes, I did.' Abigail swallowed. She could feel Gifford's simmering annoyance, even though he was

  standing several feet away from her. She also detected an underlying implication to Cole's unexceptional remark. Was he suggesting that Gifford had been admiring her along the journey? How embarrassing!

  'You served in both the cavalry and infantry?' she said, desperate to divert the conversation.

  'I did,' he agreed.

  'I have never met a cavalry officer before,' she gabbled. 'You must be an excellent horseman. I am very fond of horses myself—but I have not often had the opportunity to ride—'

  Gifford made an odd choking sound and grabbed her hand, hauling her up from the chair.

  She gasped, and stared up at him in consternation. 'What's wrong?'

  'I'll show you the pianoforte!' he growled. 'Abigail is very partial to the instrument,' he threw over his shoulder by way of explanation to his startled relatives.

  'But, Gifford, I'm sure she'd like to rest first,' Honor protested, as he dragged Abigail over to the door. 'What on earth's the matter with him?' she said in disbelief, as the door closed behind Gifford and Abigail.

  Anthony laughed. 'It seems that Giff can keep a cool head in virtually any situation—except where Miss Summers is concerned. I have no idea what set him off just then, but no doubt the situation will resolve itself satisfactorily.'

  Gifford pulled Abigail along the hallway to a large room furnished with both a harp and a pianoforte.

  'Here it is!' he pointed at it. 'You will like to play it!' he informed her tersely.

  'I expect I will,' Abigail replied in bewilderment. 'But surely it wasn't necessary to make such a furore over showing it to me.'

  Gifford planted his hands on his hips and scowled at her. 'I wouldn't have needed to if you'd kept to unexceptional topics of conversation. Why the devil did you start talking to Cole about your liking for horses?'

  Abigail's mouth fell open in surprise. 'He was in the cavalry,'' she exclaimed. 'I've never met a soldier before. I didn't know what else to talk to him about.'

  'You could have discussed the Spanish countryside with him!' Gifford said impatiently.

  'I don't know anything about Spain!' Abigail retorted in astonishment. 'He would have thought me very odd if I'd asked him to give me a lecture on the flora and fauna of the Peninsula only a minute after we'd been introduced.'

  Gifford's gaze narrowed dangerously. 'Not half as odd as he must have thought it when you declared a fondness for riding,' he said fiercely.

  Abigail stared at him with some perturbation. Had the lingering torment he obviously felt over the capture of the Unicorn finally deranged his wits? What on earth was wrong with expressing a liking for horses...?

  Then she realised why he was so heated on the subject. She bit her lip. The situation was embarrassing— but also somewhat humorous.

  'I suppose you think it's funny,' he snarled, seeing the smile she couldn't quite suppress.

  'No, no,' she hastened to assure. 'Of course not. I'm sure...I'm sure...'

  It was no good, she couldn't contain her amusement. She covered her face with both hands as her pent-up emotions found relief in laughter.

  'Dammit! This is no laughing matter,' Gifford rasped.

  Abigail peeked at his crimson, angry face through her fingers and succumbed to another bout of laughter.

  'Will you stop that!' he ordered, a hint of desperation as well as annoyance in his voice. 'It serves no purpose to become hysterical. You must simply take care to be more modest in your speech in future.'

  Abigail bit her lip and brushed tears from her cheeks.

  'Oh, Gifford.' She laid her hand flat on his broad chest and looked up into his fierce expression. 'I wasn't being immodest,' she assured him. 'I know very well the most respectable of ladies are fond of riding in Hyde Park. Many ladies hunt with no detriment to their reputation. You only found what I said shocking because you have formed an unfortunate association of ideas between horses and...and...'

  'Well, if I have, who's fault is that?' he said belligerently. 'What the devil did you mean by saying you're not my fiancee? You know damn well you must marry me.'

  Abigail sighed, her desire to laugh well and truly extinguished. 'I don't know anything of the sort,' she replied. She looked around the room. 'Shall I play for you?' she asked. She hoped that perhaps music might ease Gifford's palpable tension, not to mention his black mood.

  'If you wish.' He moved restlessly away from her. 'Would you prefer Mozart or Haydn?' she asked, veiling the instrument.

  'How the devil should I know?' he demanded, owling around the room.

  'Oh.' Abigail was disconcerted by his impatient re-lonse. 'I know several sea shanties if you would pre-r one,' she offered.

  'No, no. Play something of your own choice,' he id.

  'Very well.' Abigail hesitated for a few moments, Dndering if perhaps she should suggest they return to b others. It was surely most unusual to arrive at a 'use and then perform a recital for her host without en having a chance to remove her bonnet. But fiord tended to do things his own way, and he didn't lmii in the mood for conventional social intercourse. She took a deep, calming breath, cleared her mind el began to play. As always, the music provided an hilarating release for her own emotions. Clifford sat down. He was furious—as much with nself as with Abigail. He'd lost control of the situ-on and he hated it.

  Abigail's immediate denial that she was his fiancee ;l embarrassed him—and alarmed him. He didn't un-rstand why he should be afraid for such a foolish ison, but his fear made him angry. Besides his bad nper, he was also somewhat discomfited by his own laviour in dragging her from the draw
ing room. He sift quite sure how he'd managed to manoeuvre in into this unlikely and rather ridiculous situation, rtgail had behaved badly—embarrassing him in front

  of his family, by claiming they were not betrothed— but he had made the situation worse. Cole and Anthony were no doubt having great sport at his expense. He would have to manage things better in future.

  He heaved a sigh, leant his head back, and let the music wash over him and through him. The tension in his muscles slowly eased. It seemed to him that there was both passion and gentleness in Abigail's performance, but he did not have a great deal of knowledge on the subject—only an emotional response to the music.

  He liked the way she played. He hoped she would play for him often when they were married—he wasn't prepared even to consider the possibility that she might not marry him. He would ask her to tell him the names of the various pieces, then he would not be so ignorant when she asked for his preferences. Perhaps he would take her to some concerts. She would like that.

  The last notes faded away and Abigail laid her hands in her lap. She waited for Gifford's response. She hardly expected him to applaud, but it would be nice if he said something encouraging.

  'When you have chosen the house you prefer, I will have your pianoforte sent round by sea,' he said abruptly.

  'I don't understand.' She twisted around to look at him.

  'I don't like London,' he said. 'The air is foul and it's too crowded. We will stay for the Season,' he added quickly. 'So you may attend the balls. For the rest of the year I prefer to live elsewhere. When I have shown you my other houses, you may select the one

  you prefer—and then I'll have the pianoforte sent there. You'll obviously wish to have it where you spend most of your time.'

  'Obviously,' Abigail echoed, gazing at him. 'Are you...are you suggesting you will allow me to choose where we live?' she asked tentatively.

  Or was he telling her that he would leave her alone in one of his residences while he travelled wherever he pleased?

  'As long as you don't choose London,' he reminded her. 'Besides, Cole and Honor seem well established here, and I can't see myself sharing a house permanently with my brother. He can be damnably annoying at times. We'll visit them. Do you mind spending most of the year in the country? We could take a house by the sea if you prefer. Brighton, perhaps.'

  'Would you prefer that?' Abigail asked cautiously, startled by his suggestion.

  He frowned. 'I don't know,' he said. 'Perhaps we should visit Brighton and see what we think.' He stood up and held out his hand to her. 'I'm hungry. Dinner should be served soon. You'd better take off your bonnet. Honor will show you which room you're in.'

  Abigail allowed him to lead her from the music room. She was dazed by his announcement. Unless she had completely misunderstood him, he had just told her he would give her a free rein to decide where they lived when...if...they were married. Her father would never have made such a concession to her mother's preferences. Even her stepmother, who had provided him with the longed-for son and heir, had never been accorded such indulgent treatment.

  It amazed Abigail that Gifford, a man more prone to issue orders than anyone she had ever known, should be so willing to consider her wishes in such an important matter. Perhaps she was making a mistake in being so determined to hold out for a demonstration of warmer emotion from him. In virtually every way that counted—except when he'd made his hurtful announcement that she had to marry him, even though it wasn't what he wanted—he had been extremely considerate of her feelings.

  She was very thoughtful as she dressed for dinner. After a few minutes of contemplation she decided to wear one of Miss Wyndham's gowns. It was a soft, lustrous cream silk, cut lower across her bosom than any dress she'd previously worn—though not scandalously so. It revealed the merest hint of her cleavage. She left off her cap, which had apparently incited Gifford's loathing. Instead she pinned up her hair in a simple style which framed her face with soft curls. Two fine combs, decorated with seed pearls, had been packed with the silk gown, obviously intended to be worn with it. Abigail placed the combs carefully in her hair, and stared at her reflection in the mirror.

  Never in her life—certainly not since her mother's death—had she dressed in such a grand style. She was hardly beautiful, and she couldn't pretend to be in the first blush of youth, but perhaps she wouldn't be entirely out of place in such elegant company. Her hopeful smile was a little tremulous as she self-consciously adjusted one of her burnished curls. Perhaps her im-

  proved appearance might encourage Gifford to see her not only as his responsibility—as someone who incited his lust and his exasperation in apparently equal measure—but as someone he could love.

  Gifford instinctively rose as Abigail entered the drawing room. Both Anthony and Cole did likewise, but Gifford was too stunned by Abigail's appearance to notice. She glanced around a little uncertainly, as if she wasn't quite sure she was in the right place. Gifford was dimly aware of this indication of her shyness, but he was far more immediately conscious of the overwhelming jolt of desire he felt when he saw her.

  Her cheeks were becomingly rosy. When he took her hand, her lips parted a fraction as she looked up at him for guidance. The soft cream silk of her bodice gently revealed the curves of her bosom. When he looked down he could see the tantalising shadow that lay between her breasts. His self-imposed exile from her company during the journey to London had imposed a severe strain upon him. Now his palm ached with the need to take the weight of her breasts in his hand. Only his belated awareness that they were not alone, that Anthony was actually speaking to Abigail, stilled his gesture towards her.

  The next moment anger coursed through him. The last time he had seen her dressed so revealingly in public she had been on sale at the Blue Buck Inn. What the devil did she mean, coming down to dinner in such an appallingly fast gown? Anyone would think she was a member of the demi-monde—not his intended bride!

  His anger quickly faded as he realised that it must be one of Miss Wyndham's dresses. Abigail was obviously too innocent to know that the gown wasn't suitable. Fortunately only his close family had witnessed her faux pas, but he would have to make sure she received gentle advice on the matter before she went out in public. He glanced at Honor, wondering if she would be a suitable mentor for Abigail. He didn't know Cole's wife very well, but what he did know of her, he liked.

  His eyes narrowed as, for the first time, he noticed that Honor's dress was cut in a very similar way to Abigail's. The discovery startled him, not least because he'd already spent several minutes talking to Honor without thinking there was anything unseemly about her attire.

  'Is something wrong, Giff?' Cole asked, an edge on his voice.

  Gifford suddenly realised he'd been frowning at his brother's wife and, not unnaturally, Cole wasn't pleased.

  'No, not at all,' he said quickly. 'I was wondering whether Honor might like to take Abigail shopping— I know nothing of fashionable milliners and mantua makers. But I would not wish you to overtax yourself,' he addressed himself directly to his sister-in-law, mindful of her delicate condition.

  She laughed. 'I'm more robust than I look,' she replied cheerfully. 'After nearly four years of campaigning, I hope I can survive a morning's shopping expedition. If you would like that, Miss Summers?'

  'Please, call me Abigail. I would be very happy to go shopping with you,' Abigail assured her. 'I've never visited London before, I'm very curious to see what it has to offer. But I must warn you at once—I only wish to look, not to buy. I do not actually need anything more than I already have. So please don't organise a special trip just for my sake.'

  'I like to look, too,' Honor replied, smiling. 'Let us arrange something as soon as you have recovered from your journey. Perhaps in a day or two's time?'

  'Oh, I'm recovered already,' Abigail said blithely. 'Let us go at whatever time is convenient for you. I have no other engagements in London.'

  'You have one,' Gifford growled.r />
  Abigail blinked at him. 'Indeed I haven't,' she replied, obviously confused. 'Outside of this room, I don't know anyone who lives in London. Except for Mr Anderson, of course, but he is not here—'

  'To me!' Gifford said impatiently. 'You are engaged to me.'

  'Oh!' Abigail blushed and looked down at her hands, folded in her lap. She was acutely aware of the tension in the room. Everyone was looking at her and Gifford. She glanced briefly in his direction and saw that his expression was dark with displeasure. She flushed with embarrassment, but she couldn't think of anything to say to smooth things over.

  'Tomorrow morning,' Honor said quickly. 'Why don't we go shopping tomorrow morning? We can visit my mother afterwards. She is the proprietor of the Belle Savage coaching inn, on Ludgate Hill. The Belle is always so busy, with so many guests and coaches

  continually arriving and departing, there is always something to see.'

  'Oh, yes, th-thank you.' Abigail's relieved smile lit up her face. 'I would like that.'

  Gifford gritted his teeth, angry and frustrated that the prospect of shopping with his sister-in-law clearly delighted Abigail a great deal more than the prospect of marriage to him.

  It had been a spur-of-the-moment decision to suggest the two women should go shopping together, but now he discovered he wanted the pleasure of introducing Abigail to the sights of London.

  'Not tomorrow,' he said abruptly. 'You may go shopping the next day. I have other plans for tomorrow.'

  'You do?' Abigail looked at him, surprise and a certain amount of hopefulness in her eyes. 'Involving me?'

  Gifford suddenly realised that all his relatives were watching the interchange with considerable interest. As captain of the Unicorn he was used to having everyone hang on his words, but now he found he didn't much care for the phenomenon when it was his personal, private business everyone wanted to hear about.

  'Damned impertinence!' he muttered.

  Cole gave a snort of laughter which he converted into an unconvincing cough when Honor frowned warningly at him.