As it had at the front door, his every heartbeat slowed as if time had decelerated or he were in a dream, but Richard knew it wasn’t so. It was all too real. Pain lanced through him. “She’s dying,” he said numbly.
“Richard, no,” Lady Boughton said, rising to her feet.
He couldn’t believe her. Abby was as still as death. He shook his head and pierced the doctor with a level look the brooked no lies. “Tell me.”
“In truth, it’s hard to say,” Dr. Leven said with more candor. “I’ve known Lady Abygail almost all her life. She’s a fighter, always has been. She just needs to know there’s something worth fighting for.”
He wasn’t certain how he got there, but somehow Richard’s feet propelled him to Abby’s side where he dropped down next to her, taking her cold hand in his as Abby’s grandmother and the doctor slid out the door, catching her grandfather and Jack on the way.
Richard felt Jack linger, felt his concern for his sister, but could pay him no mind as he took in Abby’s deathly still form. Richard had known death in his life. He’d lost both parents before he was sixteen, he’d lost Vincent – as hard as it had been to accept. None of that compared to what Richard felt now. He’d never prayed for God to spare anyone, had never pleaded for mercy in any situation.
In that moment, Richard thought he might even commit to a Faustian pact to save Abby’s life. He would give any thing; bargain any thing he had including his own life and soul, to spare hers. With one hand, he reached up, smoothing her hair back from her face and bent to press first one kiss then another to her forehead. “Abby?”
There was no response.
He kissed her again, his hoarse voice pleading as he squeezed her hand tighter. “Angel?” He said it again and again. Was that his voice, he wondered. He’d never imagined he could sound on so emotional, as if he were on the verge of tears.
Her eyelids flickered.
“Richard,” she sighed.
“Hullo, angel.”
A tear splashed on his arm. Damn.
“No flowers?”
A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of Richard’s mouth. “My apologies, angel. I didn’t want to let anything slow me from reaching your side. But it is not I who needs to apologize, is it?”
How wonderful to see him smile, even just a little, Abby thought. She’d dreamed of his smiles and wished to see them more often. Wished she could give him more to smile for. The tiniest smile tugged at her lips in return. They felt cracked and dry, so she licked them and felt Richard’s lips there as well for a moment. He kissed her so softly, just the brush of his lips really, but still it was enough to bring tears to her eyes.
Tears that had nothing to do with the pain that had refused to pass these past weeks. She was aching with it and foggy with lingering fever. Her mind was dull and slow to focus. There were so many things she wanted to say to him, but the first was the most important. Closing her eyes once more, she asked, “Did you find them?”
“No.”
“Then you must go back.”
“No, never again,” Richard said unequivocally, halting the argument that he must have sensed was on the tip of her tongue. Bending his head down next to hers, Richard told her of their search, of how they had looked high and low to no avail. Even through her haze, Abby could feel the guilt weighing on him for leaving once again but also understood that Richard felt that there was nothing else to do.
Vincent and Jason were lost.
She could feel his pain but also heard something in his voice that hadn’t been there before. Hope. And resolve, perhaps. He was whispering again, close to her ear. His brogue was thick with emotion.
“I can either wallow in the past, thinking of what I could change or I can live again. I choose life, angel. A life living for the present and the future.” Abby heard the tears in his voice. “A present and a future with you. I choose you. But to have that, I need you to choose life as well. Choose a life with me. Please, angel.”
His words, so full of feeling, called to her and drew back to him. Her throat tightened painfully but she felt a blush bloom in her cheeks, where for weeks there had been only numbness. Opening her eyes once more, she stared up into his mossy green ones. There were tears there. Funny, she couldn’t recall ever seeing Richard cry before. It tore at her heart that she had made him so sad.
Surely, he had to know that she never wanted to leave him? He had to know that she would do anything, give anything for him. Which reminded her. “You have a son, Richard.”
“We have a son, Abby,” he correct, brushing his lips against her cold hand. “You don’t expect me to do that alone, do you?”
Somehow a dry chuckle worked its way out of Abby, surprising them both. “I love that you can make me laugh when I don’t even want to smile.”
“I love you, angel.”
The smile slid away. “You don’t have to say that.”
“I don’t need to say a lot of things, angel, but I will,” he told her. “I love that you contradict nearly everything I say, I love that you never back down from a fight and that you’ll give back in equal measure to anyone who tries to cut up at you. Me, Jack – it doesn’t matter. I love that you care more about others more than yourself. That you kept even our child a secret from me, so that I would have no excuse to give up my search.” He paused. “I cannot believe you lied to me.”
“I didn’t lie,” she said. “I just didn’t offer the truth. It was for your own good.”
“What is for my own good is what is good for you, angel,” he argued. “If you ever keep anything like that from me again, I’ll take you over my knee, make no mistake.”
Abby sniffed, though she was smiling as well. “I’d like to see you try.”
“You will never deny being my wife again either, Lady Abygail Merrill,” he scolded.
“Shall I simply be Mrs. Richard MacKintosh then?” she asked.
“How about Lady Richard MacKintosh?” he asked. “The Queen has seen fit to bestow a lordship of Glen Cairn upon me for me bravery and sacrifice for the glory of the Empire. It’s rubbish, of course, but I’ll take it. For you, for us. I love you, angel,” he repeated.
“And I’ve loved you my entire life.”
“I know.”
Abby rolled her eyes but her heart soared at his tender rebuttal. That is what life with Richard would be like. A more grown up and infinitely more romantic adaptation of their entire lives together. They would challenge but support, provoke yet soothe. And they would love.
Oh, yes, they would love.
“Stay with me, won’t you? I promise I will never put you through this again.”
Abby’s heart skipped at his words. “No, Richard!”
Richard’s eyes widened at her soft exclamation but Abby was already shaking her head in denial of the words. “I mean, I would like to give you as many children as I can.”
“I would never risk you so again, angel,” he said. “I never felt such pain, such helplessness in my life as when I saw that crepe on the front door. I thought it was meant for you and that I’d lost you before I had a chance to love you.”
That made her smile sadly. He could never lose her, even if he tried. She would never give him up. Still, she wouldn’t always give in, either. “We’ll see.”
“You always have to win the arguments, don’t you?” Richard chuckled, bestowing yet another kiss on her lips. “You’re going to make life interesting.”
A life worth living. Abby looked up into his eyes once again. They were still bright but not with tears any longer. They were bright with hope and love. There was no chance that she would give up a chance to spend a lifetime with Richard looking at her like that.
“You promised to court me,” Abby reminded, lifting her hand to run it gently along his jaw. Her heart burst with love for him and anticipation for their future together.
“Get better and I will,” he said bending his head to press a soft kiss full of promise and love against her lips. “I wil
l court you for the rest of my life.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
Part 1
Chapter 1
Where both deliberate, the love is slight:
Who ever lov'd, that lov'd not at first sight?
- Christopher Marlowe
Half Moon Street
London, England
April 1884
“Who?” Evelyn Preston’s jaw sagged in an unbecoming fashion before she snapped it shut and nearly screeched through her clenched teeth. “You want me to marry whom?”
“Now dear,” her mother responded while calmly spreading jam on her morning toast. “You know Lord Hindon. His father, the earl,” a small smile played on her lips, “owns a shipping office here in London and in Liverpool. You met him last fall in New York as well, don’t you recall? He and the earl visited us there when the earl was investing with your father.”
“Yes, I’ve met him.” Evelyn countered. “Indeed, I’ve met him several times. But I don’t know him.” Evelyn had known for most of her life that the choice of husband would never be her own. She had accepted the fact without argument. What she had not anticipated was that the time would come so quickly or that the choice made for her would be a man she barely knew.
For Mrs. Preston, to be certain, such an engagement would be a triumph when news reached New York. Her daughter would become a countess when the current earl had the courtesy to pass on. Other Society matrons, each one who secretly prayed for such a title for their own daughters, would be green with envy.
Her father, however, who had pampered and spoiled her through her entire life had promised her a man she could like and respect and she had believed in his assurances. All the faith and trust she had placed in him to see to her future happiness seemed to have been wasted. Blast it, Eve had assumed that her parents would at least ask her opinion of the intended groom.
“So just like that you pick a man out of the crowd for me?” Evelyn’s hands knotted in her napkin as a sickening dread settled in her stomach. “Just like that it’s done without even mentioning it to me? Without letting him ask me? Without asking me if I even like the fellow?”
“You seemed to like him very well at the last three balls we’ve attended,” Mrs. Preston commented. “You liked him well enough to attend the opera with him. You even danced with him twice at the Fernel dinner last week.”
“You practically accepted that second dance for me, if you recall.”
“Kindly mind your tone, Evelyn,” her mother chided.
Eve ignored the reprimand and surged on. “And if you were so certain that I fancied him, then why not ask me?” She turned to her father for support. “Da!”
“Evie, darlin’ girl,” Lelan Preston sat forward taking her hand. “I asked your mother whom you had favored over the past months, she told me and I checked them all out. Hindon is the one I choose based on several factors and it is done.” He rose, kissing her cheek and patting her hand.
“Several factors?” Eve sputtered. “What factors?”
“Family and expectations. Also, as I promised, he is young…”
“He’s nearly forty!”
“…he’s presentable and of good character. He has had a hand in his father’s shipping interests and therefore should be capable of looking after ours. He will do well for you and you for him. Be happy now.” Preston patted his older daughter’s cheek affectionately. “You’ll have everything you and your mother have always wanted.”
“What I have wanted? Whom I favored? I don’t favor anyone! And I never wanted to come here in the first place! You know that!” she yelled pushing back from the table. “Da! You promised to find me someone I liked! I trusted you! Well, you can’t make me do it!” Evelyn turned and raced from the room almost snarling when she heard her mother mildly comment to her father, “That’s a fine Irish temper you’ve given your daughter, Lelan.”
Evelyn nearly ran into her sister, Katherine, as she charged into the foyer. “I’d be careful going in there if I were you, Kitty, you might just find yourself married off before you can blink.”
“Evie! What happened?”
Leaving her sister openmouthed, Evelyn grabbed the front door handle and wrenched it open. Bixby, the butler, stared at her aghast. “But, Miss, your hat…”
Evelyn grabbed one from the bench near the door. “I’ve got the damn hat, Bixby!”
There was a rage boiling up in Eve. A fine rage the likes of which London had seen in few women and certainly not in any of their own ladies of Quality. Evelyn Preston, however, was not an English lady of the ton. She was an American and her father Irish. The combination made for an unusually volatile temper and she was about to display it to the whole of London.
Slamming the door of her family’s rented townhouse on Half Moon Street in the fashionable Mayfair district, Evelyn glared back at the butler who opened it again behind her and frowned on her with clear disapproval. He closed it again with deliberate softness as she stomped down the steps. Evelyn slapped the ridiculously large hat her mother had insisted she buy on top of her head. She stomped down Half Moon Street, heading nowhere as anger and frustration flooded her. Muttering curses under her breath against her hat, her parents and the whole of England, she continued to stalk along readjusting the tilting millinery every few steps with no regard to where she was heading.
Yes, Eve internally acknowledged with a grunt as she clumped along, she had come to London accepting that the basic ideal held by the matrons of New York’s social register, though perhaps never admitted aloud, was that the greatest measure of ranking among the matrons of Knickerbocker Society is not Fortune or Family but whether they are able to engage their daughters to marry into the nobility of a foreign country. Gaining an English title, for example, for their American offspring enabled any New York Society lady to rise exponentially in the eyes of the other matrons.
And, yes, she accepted with an audible screech of frustration, that her mother, Mrs. Lelan Preston of 5th Avenue Manhattan, a cousin of the noble Astors, had followed the example of other ladies in the highest societies of New York, Philadelphia and Boston who had brought their daughters overseas to barter them and their wealth for a title and prestige. Most aspired for the rank of duchess for their daughters, of course, but regrettably, there were simply not enough dukes of marriageable circumstance in all of England to make every mother happy. An earl or marquis might do in a pinch.
Following suit, Mrs. Preston had ferried Evelyn and her sister Katherine, across the ocean to London to be presented to Queen Victoria and to serve for the Season as debutantes of the ton. The Preston girls were possessed of beauty and charm and a small link to the nobility - their father was the second son of an Irish viscount - helped somewhat to establish them in that fickle society. However, what had truly opened the doors to them in the end was that they were possessed of the title heiress.
Once it had been accurately ascertained that Evelyn and Katherine were the offspring of the Lelan Preston, of shipping and railroad fortune, doors throughout the city were flung open in welcome. The ton could not imagine letting such wealth stay in America. After all, old titles often needed an infusion of new wealth.
So much to Eve’s chagrin, for the last three months, the two Preston girls had been paraded from dinner to ball to house party, courted by the most eligible bachelors – young, old, rake and recluse – Society had to offer. Proposals had been so plentiful that some whispered the sheer number to be simply indecent. Eve had heard that gossip easily since it had clearly been spoken loud enough for her to overhear.
The proposers quickly discovered, however, that the girls themselves were not the ones to propose to, but rather their mother and father. Their mother to ascertain if the proposer’s title was worthy and their father to negotiate the price of said title.
And finally, yes damn it, she now cursed aloud as she rained profanities down on everything she could think of, Evelyn and her sister Katherine both conceded that they would hav
e little to say regarding whom they would wed. Given the wealth from which they were sprung and the society from which they hailed, they understood the responsibility for choosing a proper mate had never in actuality been in their hands. Evelyn had always regarded their mother’s ambition for title with amusement and tolerance. At the same time, she trusted that their father would find for them a husband who was reasonably young and attractive, of good character and intelligent enough not to mismanage the incredible fortunes which would one day be theirs. It was a promise that Lelan Preston had made to them at the start of their journey and Evelyn had trusted him enough to carry it out.
A wave of disbelief swept over her again as she recalled her father’s role in this travesty. Yes, travesty! Her beloved Da who had done little but indulge her and spoil her since birth! This man, whom she trusted in all things. Tears of frustration burned her eyes. Eve angrily dashed a hand across them raising her face to the sky searching for understanding.
Why would he do this to her? Her heart cried out just as she walked straight into a wall - or what felt like a wall - the force of which sent her to the cobbles, painfully on her backside and palms before she had chance to take a breath. Her skirts flounced back to above her ankles, her hat deserted her once again.
Brushing off her hands, she turned to reach for the offensive thing as a large male hand scooped it up. Her eyes rose to meet an amused olive green gaze.
Chapter 2
Just like that, for the first time in her life, her breath was taken away.
Strange, Eve had always thought that it was just an expression one’s breath being taken away. “Oh my,” she whispered, her hand fluttering to her breast where her heart was suddenly pounding fast and hard. “Oh, my Lord.” Ripping her gaze from those compelling eyes was the hardest thing she had ever done in her life, but she did. She closed her eyes taking several deep calming breaths though it did little good against the rapid tattoo of her heart. She opened them again.
Questions for a Highlander Page 23
