by Cheryl Holt
Like a foolish ninny, she’d been hoping it was Faith returning from town with the report that no duel had been held. Or more foolish still, she’d experienced a fleeting rush of excitement that it might be Alex.
Perhaps he was sorry for his insults! Perhaps he’d renew his marriage proposal! Perhaps the entire humiliating situation would be swept away by affection!
But it wasn’t a Wallace vehicle. Not one she’d seen before anyway. She silently observed as the driver tied off the reins, as the outriders balanced the step. When Camilla Robertson emerged, she bristled with aggravation.
The woman appeared rich and refined, elegant and so smartly dressed that she might have been London’s arbiter of fashion. Abigail’s initial and very petty assessment was that Alex Wallace certainly liked his mistress to gad about in the highest style.
Her next assessment was that Miss Robertson would be aware that Alex was in town so it was a good time to accost Abigail. Miss Robertson was completely ensconced at Alex Wallace’s side, and she would be eager to underscore her elevated status.
Abigail, on the other hand, had been fired and ordered to leave. The abrupt conclusion of her short tenure at Wallace Downs was galling and embarrassing, and she couldn’t bear to discuss it. Particularly with a shrew like Miss Robertson.
Yet how could Miss Robertson hurt her? What could she do that hadn’t already been done? Any abuse she hurled would bounce off Abigail like dull arrows.
Alex had told her that she was too inferior to be his wife. She—Abigail Henley—oldest daughter of Lord Middlebury! His impudence was outrageous and infuriating.
She marched to the door and yanked it open, but she didn’t offer a greeting. She simply glared, her distaste oozing out.
“Miss Barrington, I’m delighted to find you at home,” Miss Robertson said. “Or I guess it’s not Barrington, is it? It’s Henley. I’ll be right with you.” She glanced up at the driver. “Wait for me. This won’t take long.”
Abigail rudely spun away and returned to the parlor. As Miss Robertson entered, she was seated in her favorite chair by the hearth. Her expression was bland, her annoyance tamped down, her impatience fully masked.
Previously in her dealings with Miss Robertson, Abigail had been employed by Alex Wallace, and she’d been confused about her position in regard to Miss Robertson. But she wasn’t employed any longer, and any clout Miss Robertson possessed had vanished the moment Abigail had been terminated. She was currently a guest in the cottage, staying with Faith until Sunday, and whatever edicts Miss Robertson chose to fling Abigail didn’t intend to listen or heed her.
“Where is Faith?” Miss Robertson inquired as she sauntered in and sat in the chair across. “Please tell me I won’t have to suffer her irritating presence.”
“She’s in London, trying to stop Mr. Wallace from dueling with Lord Pendergast.”
Abigail had begged to accompany her, but Faith insisted Alex was so angry at Abigail that she would simply have made him angrier. She’d remained in the country and had been fretting and stewing ever since.
“Faith went to London to stop Alex?” Miss Robertson tsked with exasperation. “Well, that’s a wasted trip. Alex and Lord Pendergast never quarrel. I asked him if they were bickering, and he assured me they weren’t.”
Abigail shrugged. “We’ll see, I suppose.”
“They’re friends,” Miss Robertson claimed.
“If you say so.”
“And they’ve been friends since they were boys. Lord Pendergast couldn’t possibly ruin their close connection.”
Except by seducing Alex’s sister…
Abigail wondered if Miss Robertson understood Alex and Faith Wallace. She also wondered if Alex grasped how much he truly cared about Faith. She suspected—deep down—Alex cared very much.
“What is it you need, Miss Robertson?” Abigail was keen to hurry her along. “If you’ve traveled so far just to meet with me, you must have important issues on your mind.”
“As a matter of fact, it’s very important.” She grinned, looking very much like the cat that had got in the cream. “Alex sent me to speak with you.”
“Mr. Wallace requested it?”
“Yes.”
Abigail was instantly suspicious. She couldn’t imagine Alex using Miss Robertson to do his dirty work, but what did she know about anything?
“What information has he told you to impart?” she asked.
“He had originally ordered you to vacate the premises on Sunday, but he can’t abide the delay. He’d like you to go at once.”
“Now? With night falling?”
“In the morning will be soon enough.”
“All right.”
She was furious, but she didn’t show her rage. Alex had promised she could spend the week with her nieces, but apparently he’d reneged. She considered refusing to comply, but she wouldn’t give Miss Robertson the satisfaction of witnessing any upset.
“He’d like you to take the twins with you,” Miss Robertson suddenly announced.
Abigail cocked her head, certain she’d misheard. “What? I’m to take the twins?”
“Yes. He mentioned that you yearned to have them, and after significant thought he’s decided to let you.”
Abigail frowned. “Just like that?”
“Yes, just like that. He’s never been eager to fuss with them, Miss Henley. They’re not his children.”
“I realize they’re not.”
“He only ever sought custody from his wife because she couldn’t watch over them. But he didn’t really want them.”
“Yes, I saw the evidence of his disregard when I first arrived.”
Miss Robertson smiled a tight smile. “So…he’s happy to relinquish them to you.”
“Will he help with rent or other expenses?”
Miss Robertson scoffed. “Of course not. He’s been more than generous over the years by bringing them to live here. He’s fed and clothed and educated them, but you’re actual kin to them. He’s not, and he’s thrilled to have the Henleys be in charge of them for a change—and to assume the costs.”
“But…but…he knows I have no money.”
“Yes, he knows. I’m to apprise you that you may leave with them if that is your wish or you can depart tomorrow without them. Whichever option you choose, he’d like to never hear from you again.”
Abigail bristled with disgust and dislike. “If I don’t take them with me in the morning, will I be allowed to visit them in the future?”
“No. He’d rather not be bothered by you.”
“Believe me the feeling is entirely mutual,” Abigail snottily retorted.
“He wants no contact about the twins either. Their problems will no longer be his problems. They’ll be yours, and he’ll deem his responsibility to be ended.” She smirked. “You don’t understand how severely you’ve offended him. You’re lucky he didn’t toss you out on the road the instant you told him your true name.”
“I understand why he’s incensed, but I don’t understand why he has to be so cruel to Mary and Millie.”
“He’s not being cruel, Miss Henley. He’s supported them for a whole decade, but he had no duty to them. Isn’t it time your family picked up some of the burden? After all, this was your brother’s imbroglio. Will Alex ever be released from the obligation your brother thrust on him?”
Abigail’s temper sparked to such a high degree that she worried she might explode into a thousand tiny pieces. She had a bit of savings tucked away, but not enough to make even a dent in what she would require to raise the girls properly. She didn’t have a home, didn’t know where her sisters were, and probably didn’t have a spot with Mrs. Ford.
Yet in light of Alex Wallace’s callous treatment of her and her nieces, she wasn’t about to abandon them to his control for another second. Nor would she permit Miss Robertson or their mother to inflict themselves on them ever again.
If Abigail had to li
ve in a ditch with them to keep them safe, then that is precisely what she would do.
“I’ll take them,” she fumed, “and please inform Mr. Wallace for me that he’ll never hear from the three of us again.”
“Perfect,” Miss Robertson crooned, and she opened her reticule. “He asked that you have this.”
She handed over an envelope, and Abigail peeked in it, seeing that it was fifty pounds. In view of her paltry circumstances, it was a small fortune. If she was thrifty, they’d have many months of a cushion while she figured out the best path.
She’d have liked to fling it back at Miss Robertson and tell her she didn’t need it, but money was money.
“Give him my thanks.” Her grim expression belied her gratitude.
“I will. I presume you’ll head to London.”
“Yes, I’ll head to London.” She had to speak to Mrs. Ford about a job. She had to locate Sarah and Catherine and tell them about the twins.
“That’s all you’ll get from him,” Miss Robertson warned, “so use it wisely. You shouldn’t waste it by purchasing fares on the mail coach. He’ll send a carriage to transport you to town. Will noon be acceptable?”
Again, Abigail thought of refusing, but she didn’t. “Yes, noon will be fine.”
“And he’s talked to Mrs. Ford about you. At the employment agency?”
“Oh. I wish he wouldn’t have.” But secretly, she was delighted. Perhaps he’d smoothed over the trouble he’d caused.
“He explained to her that there had been a mix-up about the date of your departure. She’s agreed to assist you in landing a new post.”
Abigail couldn’t fathom it. “She agreed? How did he sway her?”
“Alex is rich and persuasive. Funds might have changed hands.”
“He bribed her to help me?”
“He truly does not want you to ever contact him, Miss Henley. I hope you comprehend how adamant he is on the topic. He’s guaranteeing you earn an income so you won’t ever pester him. It’s to his benefit.”
“Yes, I suppose it is.”
“So…it’s settled? You’re leaving at noon tomorrow? You’re taking the girls?”
“Yes, we’ll leave so quickly and so quietly no one will remember we were ever here.”
“Marvelous.”
Miss Robertson stood and swept out without a goodbye, and Abigail sagged in her chair. She’d have liked to sneak to the window to watch the horrid woman roll away, but she was too stunned.
She had to go much sooner than planned, but the twins would go with her! They would always be hers. Then and there, she vowed she would find a way to raise them in a secure, loving environment. She would do it or she would die in the trying!
* * * *
Camilla stared out the window of the carriage, listening as her driver clicked the reins and the horses started to pull. Rapidly, the cottage disappeared from view, and she grinned with satisfaction.
Faith had traveled to town so she was away from home, and Camilla hadn’t encountered any servants from the manor. There were no witnesses to attest that she’d visited Abigail Henley.
Miss Henley hadn’t fussed or debated! She’d consented to all of Camilla’s demands without argument! It had been so simple!
She wasn’t positive how Alex would react to the twins vanishing, but if he protested their absence she would easily convince him that it was a relief to be shed of them. Gradually, as the weeks and months passed, he’d realize it was best for Miss Henley to have custody of them. He’d swiftly get over any pique he was suffering.
If he ever actually bumped into Miss Henley, if the little strumpet mentioned how Camilla had coerced her into absconding with Mary and Millie, it would be Miss Henley’s word against her own. Camilla wouldn’t back down from accusing Miss Henley of kidnapping the girls, and she’d had years of practice in bringing Alex around to her version of the facts.
“Poor, poor Miss Henley,” she mused.
She was so gullible, so effortlessly manipulated.
Alex hadn’t talked to Mrs. Ford in London, but Camilla had said plenty to the prickly woman. She’d been thoroughly apprised as to how Miss Henley was a bad risk. Mrs. Ford had absolutely concurred with Camilla’s assessment of Miss Henley’s salacious character so there was no assistance waiting for her in London.
The only irksome issue for Camilla was that she’d surrendered so much money to Miss Henley. But she’d thought it necessary to lessen Miss Henley’s concerns and shove her out the door. Camilla had already arranged to retrieve it. She knew the boarding house where Mrs. Ford’s governesses all stayed when they were between jobs, and she was certain Miss Henley would stay there too once she arrived in town.
Miss Henley would be left penniless in London with two little children in tow, and Camilla wouldn’t feel sorry in the slightest. Who cared about any of them? Not Camilla, that was for sure. And not Alex. It was out of sight, out of mind with him.
After they were removed from the property, he wouldn’t think about them again, and she would always have the pleasure of recollecting how she’d tricked Miss Henley into catastrophe.
When disaster struck, Miss Henley would discover how naïve she’d been, how stupid to trust Camilla. She’d finally and clearly understand that she shouldn’t have trifled with Alex Wallace. Camilla had warned her, but she hadn’t listened.
Alex belonged to Camilla, and Miss Henley had been a fool to suppose she could interfere in that special relationship. In another few short days, she would fully and remorsefully comprehend the error of her ways.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Price glanced around the packed ballroom, wondering if he could slip away without being noticed, but he supposed it would be impossible. In light of his decision to wed a princess, he’d never be invisible again.
His whole life, he’d simply been his father’s wastrel son, but by engaging himself to such a lofty fiancée, he’d definitely elevated his dismal condition. Now he was a man of consequence, a man moving to his destiny as a peer of the realm.
A hefty amount of her vast dowry of gold, jewels, palaces, and land had already been given to him as a gesture of good faith. He was spending with relish and extremely glad that he’d let his father convince him to proceed.
His only regret—if he had a regret—was that he hadn’t told Alex face to face what the ramifications would be of his becoming betrothed. His decision had immediately and permanently severed his friendship with Alex—because of Faith. At the moment, he wasn’t suffering the loss of their association, but down the road he certainly would.
Alex had never suspected the passionate liaison. He’d never actually looked at Faith as a beau might look at her and seen what a beauty she was so he hadn’t detected Price’s infatuation.
And of course, he’d been overly confident in Price’s integrity. It would never have occurred to him that Price might behave badly toward Faith, that he might sleep under Alex’s roof, eat his food, and drink his wine, all while secretly seducing his sister.
Price had been too much of a coward to admit the relationship, but apparently Alex was aware of it. Numerous acquaintances had mentioned Alex was searching for him and not for any cordial purpose so it meant there would be hell to pay. Would Alex kill him? Would he challenge Price to a duel? Or would he sneak up behind Price someday and shoot him in the back?
No, no Alex wouldn’t sneak up from behind. He would stroll right up and shoot Price in the middle of his cold, black heart.
A romantic person might assume he’d change his mind about Faith—as if he was Prince Charming in a fairytale—but in his world aristocrats married aristocrats. Like clung to like. Any other ending would have upset the entire social order. She’d never have been accepted as his bride, and he’d have been a shunned laughingstock forever.
It had been amusing to trifle with her, and he felt horrid over how he’d led her on, but honestly! What had she expected?
He’d
sent Alex that pathetic note, hoping it would calm him sufficiently that they could at least discuss Price’s conduct in a rational way. But Alex hadn’t replied, and Price had been hiding ever since.
Currently, he was in a very public place, a mansion crammed full of every important individual in the kingdom. The hostess had warned her footmen to be on guard for Alex, that he shouldn’t be allowed inside, so Price was safe.
What might happen later, he couldn’t guess. His fiancée wanted to attend the theater after they left the ball. Once they were riding in carriages or walking in and out of theater boxes, any calamity might transpire, and he had to acknowledge that—should Alex murder him—it was absolutely what he deserved.
His betrothed leaned in and murmured a comment he couldn’t decipher. She spoke a modicum of English, but with a heavy accent.
“What was that, darling Sasha?” he asked her.
Her translator popped up between them. “She’s bored and anxious for the music to start. She’d like to dance.”
“Tell her…” He halted, irked that he was responding to the translator. Would the bloody fellow join them in their marital bed? He turned to her. “The dancing will begin shortly. See? The orchestra is nearly ready.”
He pointed over to where the musicians were tuning their instruments, and she nodded her understanding.
As fiancées went, she wasn’t a bad choice. She was very gracious, very conscious of her image and pompously arrogant about her rank and status which Price enjoyed. He was very conscious of his rank and status too, but she was quite plain and a bit stout around the middle, and she was fawned over by sycophants.
She’s rich, she’s rich, she’s rich…
He kept repeating the words like a mantra. He didn’t have to like her or even respect her. He merely had to fornicate with her sporadically, sire a few heirs, then leave her in peace.
For the most part, he would be free to carry on as he previously had. He would revel outrageously, gamble for high stakes, and chase loose women. He would have affairs and fall in and out of love and never act as anticipated.
