A Love All Her Own

by Janet Lee Barton

  “I did. I suppose I should have waited five minutes longer. I don’t need anything now, thank you.”

  “All right. Just ring again if you do decide you need anything.”

  “Thank you, I will.” Abigail noticed that his parting smile seemed to be centered on the young maid waiting for Abigail’s directions. She waved to the bellboy and turned to the maid. “Will you be on duty tomorrow?”

  The young woman bobbed her head. “Yes, ma’am, I will.”

  “I’d like you to arrange for my frocks to be pressed, then.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll do that first thing tomorrow morning.”

  She opened the trunk first as it held all of her frocks, and she would need one to change into when she went to dinner. Even though the maid was helpful, Abigail wondered why she hadn’t brought her housekeeper. Abigail wasn’t used to doing things like this herself. Well, she wasn’t exactly doing it by herself, but neither was she used to doing things like this at all.

  But she had assured her parents that she was self-sufficient, and she was determined to be just that—no matter how inconvenient it was. They thought she couldn’t look after herself as it was; otherwise, they wouldn’t have hired Marcus Wellington’s agency to keep an eye on her.

  She shook out one of her favorite walking dresses and handed it to the maid to hang in the wardrobe. Then she brought out a dinner dress for the girl to hang beside it. It took over an hour just to get her trunk unpacked, and her stomach was beginning to rumble. “Thank you, Miss—what is your name?”

  “My name is Bea, ma’am. It’s short for Beatrice. Fielding is my last name.”

  “Well, Bea, my name is Abigail Connors. Do you work every day?”

  The young maid shook her head. “No, ma’am. I’ve just been hired to fill in when the other maids are off work.”

  “What kind of work have you done?”

  “I was personal maid for Mrs. Rothschild until she passed away a few weeks back. I took care of her clothing and helped her with her hair. . .and was there when she needed me.”

  “Hmm,” Abigail said. “When you have free time, perhaps I’ll be able to use you to help me from time to time with my hair, to keep my frocks pressed, and to run errands. Would you be interested in doing that?”

  “Oh yes, ma’am! I’d love to help you when I can.”

  “I’ll need to check your references.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I understand. I can give you a list. Would you want it now, or is tomorrow soon enough?”

  “Tomorrow will be fine.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “You are welcome.” Abigail looked around at her baggage. The trunk was empty, and she thought she could manage her bags. “I’ll finish this up myself. Just stop by tomorrow to see about getting the most wrinkled frocks pressed for me and to give me your references.”

  “I will. Have a good evening, Miss Connors.”

  “Thank you. You have a nice one, too.”

  After the maid left, Abigail checked her hair and pinched her cheeks. She was starving and didn’t have the energy to change for just an hour. Normally, she never would have thought of having dinner in the same dress she’d been traveling in, but the freedom of not knowing anyone in town was very liberating. Tired as she was, all Abigail wanted to do was have a good supper and come back to her room.

  She headed down to the dining room, and once there, she was shown to a table in an alcove and seated facing out into the room. She was quite pleased. It was out of the way enough that she wouldn’t feel out of place eating alone, yet she could see other diners plainly so that she didn’t feel quite so alone. The waiter handed her a menu, and she was impressed with the selection the hotel offered.

  She chose the veal cutlets with brown sauce and riced potatoes. For dessert, she chose lemon pie. As she waited for her meal, she took in the luxurious decor and was quite happy with her selection of hotels. She didn’t think any of the others in town could be any nicer.

  From the soft murmur of voices and the gentle clink of silverware, the hotel’s clientele seemed quite sophisticated and genteel. Abigail was not made to feel uncomfortable at all for being by herself, and for that, she was quite thankful. She did see a man across the way keep looking at her, but she had a feeling he was the agent hired to watch over her. She had the impression from meeting Marcus Wellington that he didn’t do anything by half measure, and she was certain that he would have her watched no matter where she went outside her room. She was a little surprised by the comfort that thought gave her.

  Abigail actually enjoyed her dinner. The meal was delicious and the service outstanding. Best of all, she was able to watch the other diners without worrying that they might be discussing her broken engagement. If they were discussing her at all, they might be wondering who she was, but as she was at a hotel and the other guests weren’t from Hot Springs, they probably weren’t thinking of her at all. There was something very freeing about that thought.

  That the wealthy frequented Hot Springs was evident in the way the guests were dressed, and Abigail would be certain to dress in a like manner while she was at the hotel. But as no one knew her, she wasn’t going to worry about wearing her traveling clothes this evening. Instead, she just let herself enjoy the meal and the comings and goings of the other guests.

  ❧

  Marcus had supper at one of the restaurants down the street from the Arlington Hotel. He hadn’t been able to get Abigail Connors off his mind all evening, and it bothered him a great deal that he was still thinking about her. At first, he told himself it was because she was a new client and he just wanted to make sure everything went well—as he would any other client.

  But from the moment he’d first seen Abigail, he knew she would be no ordinary client. Maybe it was because she was Jacob’s daughter, or maybe it was because she was alone here in Hot Springs and he felt even more responsibility for her. He didn’t know. All he was certain of was that he’d been thinking of her ever since he left the hotel. In the back of his mind were all the questions he’d like answered. He wanted to know why her wedding had been called off and why she was traveling alone. Why did she feel the need to leave Eureka Springs? And why was he so interested in her?

  Marcus chided himself. Probably his investigative personality had his mind working overtime—that was all. But when he left the restaurant in time to meet his agents as they switched shifts at eight o’clock, he had a feeling it was more than that.

  Benson was in the lobby, waiting for Nelson, when Marcus arrived. He put down the paper he was reading when Marcus took a seat beside him. “How’s it going?”

  “It’s been quiet. Miss Connors came down for dinner and just went back up about ten minutes ago.”

  “Hmm. I would have thought she might eat in her room tonight.”

  “No, sir. She came down and had a leisurely meal. She seemed interested in watching the people around her and appeared quite at ease at a table by herself.”

  Perhaps she was more confident and independent than her father thought she was. “Well, I’m glad she had a good evening and is safe and sound back in her room,” Marcus said. “I’m not sure everything will be quite so calm in the days to come.”

  “Most likely not,” Benson said. “In this line of work, it usually isn’t.” Nelson arrived just then, and Benson filled him in on the calm night.

  “I could use some quiet time after the last client I was assigned to,” Nelson said as he settled into the chair Benson had just vacated. It had the best view of the stairs and the front desk.

  They all laughed. Nelson’s last client had been a wealthy woman with three spoiled children. As it turned out, her husband had apparently hired the Wellington Agency to watch his children while his wife went to the bathhouses for relaxation. Marcus assured both men, “Don’t worry. I’ve got that name on my never-again list.”

  “Good thing, ’cause I’d have to decline the opportunity to do it again,” Nelson said.

  “C
an’t say I’d blame you,” Marcus said as he and Benson turned to leave. “Have a good night.”

  He and Benson parted ways just outside the hotel, and Marcus found himself looking up at Miss Connors’s hotel window. He wondered what she thought of Hot Springs and what kind of mood she’d be in the next day. He couldn’t deny that he was looking forward to finding out.

  ❧

  By the time Abigail got back to her room, she was ready for a good night’s rest. She climbed into bed and pulled up her covers, but it didn’t take long before Abigail realized that she wasn’t going to drift off into a peaceful sleep as she’d hoped. In the dark of the night and alone in a strange place, she began to think about home and all she had lost in the last few weeks.

  Abigail fought the sudden urge to cry, but the hot tears won and cascaded down her cheeks. Brushing them away with the back of her hand, Abigail turned over and crunched her pillow, but she couldn’t turn off her thoughts. The past was over with, and she needed to get on with her future. She wasn’t sure she could.

  For so long, she’d felt guilty about her sister’s death. . .and now she knew her niece blamed her for it as well. . .even though it hadn’t been her fault. She truly had been trying to save Rose when she’d followed her up the stairs and grabbed her arm and tried to get her to come with her the day of the fire. When Rose pulled away, she lost her balance and fell down the stairs. It hadn’t been Abigail’s fault, yet she knew she would always feel she could have, should have done something else—only she didn’t know what.

  Rose had been determined to save her keepsakes, telling Abigail that she’d be right back. But even had Abigail left her alone and let her go, she wouldn’t have gotten out in time. The result would have been the same, and Abigail still would have blamed herself. If there was anything she should feel guilty about that day, it was that she’d envied her sister and wanted the life she had, but she had never ever wished her gone. And she had truly tried to convince Rose to get out in time.

  Deep down, Abigail knew all that, but she would never forget seeing her sister fall down the stairs, rushing to help, only to find that Rose was badly hurt. All she could do when Rose told her to get Natalie to safety was just that—and hope she’d have time to come back and get her sister out. But that wasn’t to be. By the time she’d turned around, the house was in flames. Abigail shuddered, remembering that sight in vivid detail. She would never forget that day. What really broke her heart was that now her niece remembered that day, too, and she wasn’t likely to forget it. And in Natalie’s mind, Abigail was to blame.

  Abigail wished she could change the past, but there was no way that could be done. And she had no one but herself to blame for the heartache. There was no keeping the tears back, and she began to sob for the past, for the present, and for the future she’d wished for but lost.

  ❧

  Abigail didn’t wake until midmorning, but she was relieved to have the night over with. Even after her tears had subsided, she’d tossed and turned. Now she washed her face and could only hope that some of the puffiness around her eyes would go down before she met the Wellingtons.

  She was pleased when Bea kept her word and came to take her dresses to be pressed. Bea handed her the list of references and told her that she’d try to come back that afternoon to help with her hair. As it was past midmorning but she was still not very hungry, Abigail sent a lunch order of tea and the soup of the day down to the kitchen with Bea, to be sent up at noon.

  Abigail finished unpacking the bags she’d been too exhausted to deal with the night before, quite pleased that she managed to do it all herself. The thought that she really was quite spoiled came to mind, but she didn’t let it stay there long. She didn’t much like the picture it gave of herself.

  After she’d freshened up, she was pleased that her lunch arrived right on time, and she thought about the day ahead as she ate her split pea soup and enjoyed her pot of tea. She was looking forward to meeting the Wellingtons. She’d realized just how alone she was during her long night, and she would be glad to have someone to call on if needed. At least they were old friends of her parents, and she hoped that would make it easier to get to know them.

  Bea brought her gowns up just after one o’clock and was able to stay and help with preparations for attending the Wellingtons’ tea. She brushed Abigail’s hair to a bright shine and then pulled it up, twisted and turned it, and pinned it on top of her head. Bea explained each step so that Abigail could attempt to do it herself if Bea wasn’t available. The maid pulled a few curls out around Abigail’s face, and Abigail was very pleased with the results.

  “Thank you, Bea. I’ll try to do it myself tomorrow morning for church.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be able to. Just brush, pull up, and twist.”

  “I think that sounds easier than it is, but I’ll try.” After all, she was going to be here awhile. She wasn’t going to have someone at her disposal all the time. She thought of hiring a personal maid—after all, many people traveled with their personal staff. Somehow that only reinforced the fact that she was very spoiled, and for some reason, she didn’t want the Wellingtons to see her that way.

  Bea helped her into a visiting dress, a pale blue crepe de chine draped to the side and trimmed with gold embroidery. By the time Bea left, Abigail thought she looked as nice as she could.

  Marcus Wellington arrived promptly at three, and when Abigail opened the door to him, she was a little surprised at how nervous she was.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Connors. It is a lovely day out. Are you ready to go?”

  “It is, Mr. Wellington. And I am ready and looking forward to meeting your parents.” She gathered her parasol, reticule, and key. After locking the door, she dropped it in her small bag and took the arm Marcus held out to her as they went downstairs to the lobby.

  He led her out to a surrey with a fringed canopy top, helped her in, and then rounded the vehicle to take his own seat. With a flick of his wrist, they were off, down Central Avenue back toward the train depot. Abigail quite enjoyed the ride while Marcus pointed out several businesses to her. A general store owned by a Mr. E. Burgauer was said to have a varied stock, and according to Marcus, the William J. Little Grocery at the junction of Central and Reserve was one of the largest in the city.

  He also pointed out the post office and Cooper and Johnston’s Stationery and Bookstore. A photographer and a large jewelry store occupied the same block. And they passed several banks, too. There was so much to look at—and Abigail was seeing just part of the town. She looked forward to learning her way around.

  Marcus turned off Central Avenue and made several more turns before he stopped the surrey at a large home on a quiet street. He tied the reins to the hitching post at the street and helped her down. Before they got halfway to the house, the door was thrown open and a woman who reminded Abigail of her own mother stepped out onto the wide porch. “Marcus, dear, don’t dawdle. Bring Miss Connors inside—I’ve been waiting all day to meet her.”

  When Abigail stepped up onto the porch, Mrs. Wellington gave her a quick hug. “I am so glad to finally meet you, dear. You look just like your mother at your age! Isn’t she lovely, Marcus?”

  Four

  Abigail held her breath, waiting for Marcus Wellington’s answer to his mother’s question.

  “Yes, Mother, she is very lovely. And she’s been looking forward to meeting you and Father, too, so let’s get her inside out of the heat.”

  Abigail felt the color rise up her neck and onto her cheeks. She wondered if Marcus was just being polite or if he was being sincere. She had a feeling he was uncomfortable in having to answer his mother’s question. But Mrs. Wellington paid no attention and pulled Abigail inside the large foyer.

  “Your father is in his study; would you go get him, Marcus? We’ll be waiting in the parlor,” Mrs. Wellington said. She led Abigail over to the right and into a parlor that made her feel right at home. It was so much like her parents’ parlor that her mot
her could have decorated it. Obviously, the two women had similar tastes.

  “Please, dear, take a seat anywhere,” Mrs. Wellington said, sitting on the burgundy-colored settee. A tea tray laden with all kinds of sandwiches and sweet treats rested on the round table in front of her. “I’ll pour tea as soon as Marcus and his father join us. I can’t tell you how pleased I am that you are here. I’m hoping that your parents will pay us a visit soon. Although we keep letters going back and forth, it’s been much too long since we’ve seen them in person.”

  Marcus and his father entered the room, and Abigail could see that Marcus looked very much like Mr. Wellington. They both had that engaging dimple when they smiled.

  “Well now, how pretty you are,” the older Mr. Wellington said as he came over and took Abigail’s hand in his. “You do look like your mother. We are so glad you are here in Hot Springs and we have this chance to meet you. You were only a child the last time we saw you.”

  Abigail couldn’t remember actually meeting them, so she must have been young.

  “I’m very pleased to meet you all, too, Mr. Wellington. My parents think of you as among their closest and dearest friends.”

  Mrs. Wellington poured their tea, and Marcus handed round a tray with delicate sandwiches and little iced tea cakes. The afternoon passed pleasantly with the Wellingtons telling her stories about her parents when they were all younger. When it was time to leave, Abigail hated to depart. The evening loomed long and lonely to her.

  “We’d love to have you join us for church tomorrow and for dinner here afterward, if you would be so inclined,” Mrs. Wellington invited.

  Abigail didn’t hesitate to accept. “I would love to. Thank you for the invitation!”

  “Wonderful! Marcus will pick you up in the morning, then, won’t you, dear?”

  “I’ll be happy to,” Marcus answered.

  For a moment, Abigail’s heart skipped a beat. Then she remembered that he was actually working for her father and escorting her would be part of his job. Still, she managed a smile. “I’ll be ready. Thank you again for the invitation, Mrs. Wellington.”