by Cheryl Holt
Abigail hadn’t wanted to upset Mary more than she already was. She’d plodded through their day, acting as if all was fine. They’d spent the afternoon finishing their lessons, but they’d constantly peeked out the window, being certain they’d heard Millie in the yard, but it had never been her.
Eventually, they’d begun searching, and she was extremely concerned.
Mary wouldn’t tell her exactly what had occurred in the parlor with their mother, but it was obvious there had been some sort of quarrel. Mrs. Pennywhistle appeared as if she could be cruel and spiteful so who could guess what had transpired?
With her being blond and blue-eyed, she would have once been pretty, but she was incredibly gaunt, as if she was suffering from a debilitating illness. She was probably thirty, but dissipation made her look much older than that. Her hair was thin and limp, her cheeks pockmarked and lined. Alex claimed she was addicted to opium, and Abigail had detected a strong odor of alcohol emanating from her breath and clothes.
Her adultery had pushed Alex and Hayden into the duel that had wrecked their lives. Alex had recovered most of what he’d lost, but Hayden had died for his sins, and she blamed reckless, unhinged Eugenia Pennywhistle for his and her parents’ deaths. If the duel had never been fought, if he hadn’t been wounded and facing arrest, her parents would never have dragged him to Italy. They wouldn’t have perished at sea.
What was it about Mrs. Pennywhistle that had led the two men to such violence? Whatever attribute it had been, it had definitely vanished in the intervening years.
She walked by Faith’s shed, and as they rounded the building Faith was tending a bonfire. She was sitting on a log, feeding what seemed to be wood into the flames. Yet as Abigail neared, she saw it was actually portions of canvas that had been cut to pieces. She was destroying a huge amount of what she’d painted.
“Faith!” Abigail’s tone was scolding.
Faith peered over her shoulder. “What?”
Abigail and Mary went over to her, and Abigail asked, “What are you doing?”
“I’m cleaning out my studio.”
The door was open, and Abigail glanced inside. The room was empty.
“You’re burning all your work?”
“Yes.”
Abigail’s brows rose in astonishment. “Why would you?”
“I’m not an artist,” Faith insisted, “and it’s silly to pretend I have talent.”
In the swatches that hadn’t been slashed, her ability was clear. They were remarkable, the colors bold, the scenes vibrant.
Abigail laid a hand on her arm. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” Faith’s cheeks were mottled as if she’d been crying. “I simply had this stupid dream where I presumed I could change my life, but I can’t.”
The reply sent a cold shiver of dread down Abigail’s spine. The only dream Faith had ever mentioned was her absurd conviction that she and Price Pendergast would elope to Spain.
“Is it Lord Pendergast?” Abigail carefully inquired. “Is that it? Has he been delayed?”
“He’s been permanently delayed.” Faith snorted with disgust. “I was an idiot to suppose I could count on him.”
“He was kind to you. It’s easy to understand why you were bowled over.”
“I was bowled over because I’m a fool.” She pulled her gaze away from the flames. “You’ve been calling for Millie. Has she run off?”
“Yes, and it was hours ago.”
“That’s not like her,” Faith said. “What happened?”
“Her mother visited, and the meeting distressed her.”
Faith frowned. “Eugenia was here?”
“Yes.”
Faith stared at Mary. “How was she?”
“The same as always.”
“I’m not surprised,” Faith said. “Were the two of you alone with her?”
“Yes.”
“It must have been horrid.”
Mary didn’t respond, and Abigail asked, “How long have you been outside? Have you seen her?”
“I haven’t seen a single soul.”
“Why don’t you hunt for her with us? I hate to leave you by yourself when you’re so despondent.”
“I have to finish this.”
“Oh, Faith…”
“I don’t need this space. You and the girls could use it as your schoolroom.”
“We’re fine with the dining room in the cottage,” Abigail said. “At the moment, you’re upset, but in a few days you’ll be eager to start over. I’ve heard that artists can’t resist.”
“I doubt I’ll ever paint again. I’m not really an artist.”
Abigail wished Mary wasn’t with her. Evidently, Lord Pendergast had broken Faith’s heart, and she was reeling from it. Abigail was keen to pose some adult questions about adult issues that couldn’t be addressed in front of Mary.
How advanced had the affair been? Was Faith ruined? What if there was a baby growing in her belly? What then?
“Come with us,” Abigail said. “Please?”
“I can’t. I’m too busy with this, but I’m certain Millie will turn up.”
Abigail smiled at Mary. “I’m certain she will too.”
“I’m not so sure, Miss Barrington,” Mary said. “She’s never run off like this before. I hope she’s not hurt or lost.”
“I refuse to believe she’s hurt,” Abigail firmly stated, “but she might be lost. The forest can be confusing when all the trees look alike.”
“Alex stopped by earlier,” Faith said. “He claims he’s proposed to you.”
Abigail scowled and peeked down at Mary who was enormously curious over what Abigail’s answer would be.
“We can discuss it later,” Abigail told Faith.
“He’s desperate for me to convince you it’s a brilliant idea.”
Abigail chuckled. “I don’t think you could.”
“He’s a good man, Abigail. Even though he’s made some mistakes in his life, deep down he’s good. You could do a lot worse.”
“I know that,” she murmured. “When I next speak to him, may I explain about Lord Pendergast? I realize I swore I wouldn’t, but if he behaved inappropriately toward you Alex should be apprised.”
“Why would we tell him? Shall we enrage him so he races to town and tries to kill another nobleman’s son? I’d like to save him from that dire fate. Besides, I am the scandalous love child of a housemaid who was seduced by the master of the manor, and I can’t forget that fact. I’m sure Alex and I—and Lord Pendergast—would all agree I’m not worth fighting over.”
She whipped away and stormed into her studio. Abigail wanted to chase after her, but she couldn’t when Mary was hanging on their every word.
“Let’s go to the cottage,” she glumly said to Mary. “Let’s see if Millie is there yet.”
They rushed home, but Millie was still nowhere to be found.
* * * *
Abigail was in the receiving parlor at the manor, waiting for Alex. The footman who’d greeted her at the door and the butler who’d escorted her to the room were both polite, but she’d caught glimpses of them studying her and noting she was wearing a beautiful gown and that it was different from what she’d had on the previous evening.
Clearly, gossip had spread among the staff that Mr. Wallace had showered her with expensive gifts, but she didn’t have time to worry about any foolishness.
Long before he arrived, she heard him approaching. He’d been upstairs and was hastening down, conversing with the footman who’d fetched him. He sounded positively chatty. As to herself, she braced, warning herself to buck up. He completely overwhelmed her, and she had no ability to ward off his potent allure.
After she’d suffered through his bizarre proposal of marriage, she’d been awake and pacing most of the night. At dawn, she’d written competing letters to Mrs. Ford.
In one, she had concurred with Mrs. Ford’s advice th
at she pack up and leave Wallace Downs immediately. In the other, she had profusely apologized, but succinctly informed her that she wasn’t leaving.
She was torn over her decision and hadn’t mailed either letter. Hopefully, events would intervene to clarify her choices, but if nothing viable occurred, delay would resolve the issue. If she wasn’t in London on Friday, Mrs. Ford would cut her loose.
“Hello, Miss Barrington.” He swept in, and he was beaming with pleasure. “I was just coming over. You saved me the trip.”
Nervously, she peered over at the butler who was hovering. “Could I talk to you privately?”
“Of course, but first would you like a refreshment? Shall we have a glass of wine?”
“No, thank you.”
The butler was blatantly eavesdropping, and Alex shooed him out. “See to it that we’re not disturbed.”
The man flashed a furtive, condemning glare at Abigail, and she could practically list the rumors that would be swirling down in the kitchen.
“The servants think I’m a hussy,” she said after the door was closed.
“They’d better not think that.” He bustled over and kissed her before she realized he might. “I’d hate to have anyone lose their job because they were speculating about us.”
“No one is losing a job because of me,” she insisted.
“Then people should keep their noses out of my business.”
He was casually dressed in a flowing white shirt, trousers and boots, no coat or cravat. He flopped down onto a nearby sofa and pulled her down too so she was on his lap, her bottom balanced on his thigh.
She was stunned by how quickly matters had escalated. He pushed to get what he wanted, and she was too cowardly or too inattentive to be certain he didn’t.
“What have you been doing with yourself?” he asked. “I meant to call on you sooner, but I was buried with chores. The management of this estate is exhausting.”
“I can imagine.”
“In the past, were you trained to run a large house like this?”
She’d absolutely been trained, and she detested his dangling the prospect in front of her. He made it seem as if their marriage was about to transpire, as if he would wed her and trust her to administer the property for him. It boggled the mind.
“I wrote to Mrs. Ford,” he suddenly said.
She rippled with aggravation. “I wish you hadn’t.”
“I had to. I felt she should be apprised that you won’t be in London on Friday.”
“I should have been the one to notify her. Not you.”
“Have you written her too?”
“Yes, but I didn’t mail the letter.”
“Why didn’t you? Could it be because you know I’m correct and you should stay with me?”
He charmed her with his assertive comments and grandiose ideas, and in light of the day’s debacles she couldn’t deal with his pompous posturing. She was dizzy with distress, and she simply needed him to fix what was wrong.
“We’ve had an incredible amount of drama at the cottage,” she said. “That’s why I’m here. I have to tell you about it.”
He scowled. “Now that you mention it, you look extremely troubled. What happened?”
“First off, I have to break a promise I made to Faith about a secret I’ve been keeping for her, but you have to swear you won’t run off half-cocked. She’s determined you not intercede or overact.”
He huffed with indignation. “I never overreact.”
“Never? Aren’t you the man who fought a duel with Lord Henley?”
“Well, yes, but he deserved it.” He moved her off his lap and onto the sofa cushion, then he stood. “You didn’t want any wine, but from how you’re glowering at me I think I should have a whiskey.”
He walked over to the sideboard and poured a tall glass. He remained where he was, and he sipped it as he studied her from across the room.
“Let me have it,” he said. “What was the secret with Faith? It must be horrid if she was hiding it from me.”
“You finally stopped by her studio.”
“Yes. Lord Pendergast told me she was amazingly talented, but I’m such a terrible brother I never went to see for myself.”
“How did she seem when you were there?”
“A bit distracted. Angry that I’d come, but then she’s usually angry with me. She doesn’t like the Wallace men very much.”
With good reason! “Her paintings were all there? They were fine?”
“Yes. I took one too.” He grinned. “She grumbled and groused, but I took it anyway.”
“I’m glad. At least you saved one of them.”
“What do you mean?”
“After you left, she slashed them all to pieces, and right now there’s a huge bonfire out in the grass.”
“But…why?”
“I once asked you about Lord Pendergast and his relationship with her.”
He’d been about to take a drink, and his glass halted in mid-air as he pondered her statement. “What are you saying?”
“They were planning to elope.”
His jaw dropped in astonishment. “Faith and Price?”
“Yes. She expected they would sail to Spain and live in a small village on the beach. She intended to work as an artist to support him. She felt he should get out of England so he could be happy.”
“Faith and Price?” he repeated. “He would never have followed through.”
“I was sure he wouldn’t. I wanted to confide in you, but she swore me to silence. Actually, I figured he simply wouldn’t proceed so it would never be a problem. It appears I guessed correctly.”
He scoffed with derision. “He wouldn’t have wed her. Never, ever. If he claimed he would, she was insane to believe him.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Besides which, he’s engaged.”
Abigail gasped. “Since when?”
“It just became official, but his father has been in negotiations for months.”
“Ah…I understand,” she mused. “He’s been leading her on, but he must have ended it once the betrothal was settled. She’s devastated.”
“Has he…he…ruined her?”
He looked murderous, and she could only sigh. “We should presume he has.” Her reply raised the color in his cheeks, and she hurriedly added, “I’m not certain though, and don’t you dare fly into a rage.”
“We have to find out how far along the affair was.”
“Why? It’s futile to speculate. He would never have married her. You know what aristocrats are like. Even if you demanded it, he wouldn’t oblige you.”
“He’s my best friend. Why would he do this to me?”
“He didn’t do it to you,” she pointed out. “He did it to your sister.”
“Precisely. Why would he go behind my back and hurt her like this?”
He was truly bewildered, and she shrugged. “He seemed to genuinely like her. I watched them together when he was at the cottage, and his affection was real. He probably wished he could have snuck off with her, and he couldn’t bear to refuse.”
“Or perhaps he’s merely an unprincipled libertine, and he assumed he could slither into my house, make himself at home, and seduce my sister.” He gulped his drink and smacked the glass down so hard she was surprised it didn’t shatter. “The next time I see him, I will kill him.”
“Don’t even joke about it.”
“Who’s joking?”
She rolled her eyes in exasperation. “I won’t continue discussing this with you until you assure me you can keep a level head.”
“I’ve never been able to, Abigail. It’s why I’ve had so much trouble in my life.”
“Well, I’m not done telling you about trouble so calm down.”
“There’s more than my sister being ruined, having her heart broken, and her destroying a decade of paintings?”
“Yes.”
“What is it? And I better sit down again.” He came over and dropped into the chair across from her. “From your pained expression, this will be much worse than what you’ve already shared.”
“Should I ease into it or just blurt it out?”
“Blurt it out. I’ll try to hold up.”
“All right, but brace yourself. Your ex-wife paid us a visit.”
He looked murderous again. “Eugenia was here?”
“Yes.”
“She didn’t have my permission, and she’s aware it’s required.”
“She didn’t call on you at the manor first?”
“No. I haven’t spoken to her in months.”
“A housemaid let her in without realizing the rules, and I wasn’t there to prevent it.”
He blew out a heavy breath. “How were the girls after she departed? Were they distressed? It usually takes days for them to regain their equilibrium.”
“Mary won’t admit what occurred, but they quarreled with her, and Millie ran away. We’ve been waiting all afternoon, thinking she’d show up, but she hasn’t.”
“What time did Eugenia stop by?”
“This morning. About eleven?”
He glanced over at the clock on the mantle. It was nearly six. The summer evenings were long, the sun setting late, but night was swiftly approaching.
He frowned. “You should have come to me hours ago.”
“I know. We simply thought she’d return on her own—especially if she was hungry. We had a snack out on the patio. I figured—if she was hiding in the woods and watching us—that the food would draw her in, but it didn’t.”
“Dammit,” he muttered, then he apologized for his rough language. “I’m not very good at dealing with catastrophes involving children.”
“Mary and I scoured the forest and orchards, but there’s no sign of her. I’m very worried.”
“Would she have left with Eugenia?”
“I can’t imagine she would have—unless Millie rounded the house and bumped into her. She dashed out the back door, and Mrs. Pennywhistle went out the front. They fought, Alex, quite viciously. I doubt Millie would have sought her out.”
