by Wolf, Bree
As anger and regret surged through her heart, Charlaine’s hand closed over the parchment, crumpling it into a tight little ball. Her instinct was to fling it into the hearth. But to her utter dismay, no flames danced in the grate this time of year.
“What is it?” Caroline inquired, deep concern in her voice.
Charlaine’s hand tightened upon the letter. “You were wrong,” she hissed, unable to stem the tears snaking their way down her cheeks. “He does not love me. He loves her. He always has.” She shook her fist, the damning letter still clutched within. “The moment she calls for him, he runs off without a word!”
“Perhaps you—”
“No!” Charlaine snapped. “I appreciate your concern, but…there is nothing more to say about this. He’s made his choice.” She swallowed. “I’ll have to accept it.” A dark chuckle rumbled in her throat. “After all, I’m his friend, and friends are happy for one another, are they not?” Gritting her teeth, she ran from the room, desperate to be alone.
Not since Peter’s death had Charlaine felt this awful. Her heart hurt, pounding against her ribcage as though it wanted to jump from her chest. If only it would, for it seemed hers was doomed to suffer one loss after another. Where was the hope Peter had promised her would never leave? What could she possibly hope for now?
Chapter Thirty-Eight
A Woman Named Abigail
“Welcome back, Mr. Caswell,” Gusford greeted Nathanial upon his return to Pembroke Hall. The balding butler offered a dignified bow and then stepped aside, waiting for Nathanial to step into the great hall, tall and intimidating.
“Thank you, Gusford.” Letting his gaze travel over the curved staircase and the marble columns, Nathanial all but held his breath. His heart thundered in his chest, and he wondered if Pembroke Hall’s butler could see the pulse thudding in his neck. If he could, his expressionless face betrayed not a thought.
Nathanial momentarily closed his eyes and inhaled a deep breath. Then he turned back to Gusford. “Miss Abigail Spencer, is she here?”
Was she? A part of Nathanial could not believe it to be true. Was Abigail here in England? Here in his house? Not an ocean away?
Gusford inclined his head ever so slightly. “I believe, at present, Miss Spencer is out in the gardens. Shall I send for her?”
Nathanial shook his head, his gaze unerringly traveling to the corridor that led to the back of the house and from there out onto the terrace. “I’ll find her myself,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible as his feet began to move of their own accord.
Only the day before, Nathanial had received her letter. Her words had come as a shock to him. They had also proven a much needed distraction. A distraction he had run toward like a coward. He had not even taken the time to bid Charlaine farewell, to explain, to apologize. He had slunk away in the night, unable to meet her gaze after what had happened.
An image of her dark, soulful eyes rose in his mind, but he shoved it away the moment it surfaced for it brought with it shame and regret. Never would she forgive him.
Never.
Stepping out onto the terrace, Nathanial wondered at the slight chill in the air. Autumn was fast approaching, however, the days had been warm thus far. Perhaps too warm this late in the year. Now, it seemed the weather was changing. The sun seemed to shine with less strength, its warmth a mere imitation of what it had been only the day before. The world seemed colder, less vibrant, less beautiful as though it, too, had suffered a loss and now lay in mourning.
Hesitant strides carried him across the terrace and out into the gardens of Pembroke Hall. Not long ago, Zach and Becca had celebrated their marriage here. It had been a happy day for them, and for Nathanial it had been one most fortunate. He had not known it then, but it had been the day that had changed his life.
It had been the day Charlaine had promised to be his friend.
Nathanial still remembered his distrust when she had approached him. He had been rude, barely speaking to her. He had wanted her to leave him alone. He had not wanted her company. I’m not interested, he had snapped.
And she had laughed.
She had not been impressed by his rude demeanor.
She had not taken affront.
She had not walked away.
Indeed, Charlaine had known the truth even then. She had seen that he had been in dire need of a friend, and she had promised to be that friend for him. He had not wanted her to, but she had not been deterred.
She had been his friend all these months…
…and now he had lost her.
“Nathanial.”
Jerking around, Nathanial stilled. His heartbeat. His breathing. His mind. Everything stopped as he stared at the woman standing by the rosebushes and, for a short second, Nathanial saw Charlaine. He saw her dark eyes, always daring him, always teasing him, her luscious, black hair dancing in the breeze, her warm smile, knowing and patient.
And in that moment, his heart rejoiced.
Then he blinked and found himself looking not at Charlaine, but at Abigail.
After almost a year, she stood before him once again, only a few paces away. Her golden hair shimmered even in the dimming light of a gray afternoon, a loose tendril twirling in the breeze. Her blue eyes looked at him as they always had, stirring memories of days long ago, and the soft curl of her lips reminded him of the plans they had made, the future they had longed for.
Only she hadn’t, had she?
“Abigail.” His voice sounded strained, his throat dry as though he had not spoken in years, his vocal cords no longer able to comply with ease. The moment seemed surreal as though he were merely imagining it. Was she truly here?
“I wondered if you would come,” she said then, her voice tentative, quite unlike the exuberant young woman he had known all his life. Her gaze dropped to the ground, the fingers of her right hand playing with the hem of her left sleeve. Then she inhaled a deep breath, and her gaze rose to meet his yet again. Her shoulders drew back, and her fingers released their pinched grip upon her sleeve. She lifted her chin and then moved toward him.
Nathanial tensed. “Why are you here?” he snapped, almost cringing when his callous words reminded him of the first time he had spoken to Charlaine.
Abigail swallowed. Her feet, however, did not still until she had reached his side. “I came to explain,” she told him, sorrow in those blue eyes, “to apologize, to…” A tentative smile teased her lips. “To see you again.” Her mouth opened and closed, a sudden longing in her gaze that stole Nathanial’s breath. “I missed you,” she finally said. “Nathanial, I missed you so much. I had to see you. I hope you’re not angry with me for coming.”
Overwhelmed, Nathanial stared at her, his thoughts sluggish somehow as he tried to make sense of what she had said. No, he wasn’t angry. Not truly. He felt…stunned, caught off guard, shaken, dazed, dumbfounded; any of these words would do. Oddly enough, though, Nathanial felt no anger. He had once. He knew he had. But looking at her right here, right now, he could not say that he did. What he felt was perhaps a mild echo of what had once burned in his chest. “Does your father know you’re here?” Nathanial asked, relieved that his mind was able to conjure at least a halfway reasonable question.
Her face fell. “He wants me to marry,” she replied, and her gaze dropped to her sleeve again, her fingers reaching for the soft fabric. “He is still angry with me for what I did.” She glanced up at him through lowered lashes. “Every day, I can see it in the way he looks at me.”
Nathanial felt that muscle in his jaw twitch. “Did he send you?” he demanded, remembering well how her father had pleaded with him to proceed with their intended nuptials.
Abigail’s eyes widened, and she shook her head vehemently. “No, he didn’t. I promise. You must believe me.” Tension stood on her face, her lower lip trembling as she looked at him.
Nathanial sighed. “Very well. Then why are you here?” He turned from her, arms linked behind his back, and continued down the gravel
path.
Catching up, Abigail fell into step beside him. “My life has changed ever since…” Her voice trailed off, her head bowed as they walked side by side. “It gave me time to think, to look at my life, my choices, and it made me realize that…” She stopped and her hand touched his arm, making him jerk to a halt. “My choices have never truly been my own,” she whispered, her voice choked as she looked up at him. “I think…what I did I did because I needed to break free. I needed to take a stand. I needed my father to know that this was my life, not his to do with as he pleased.”
Unable to look at her, Nathanial gritted his teeth. “You lied,” he hissed, shrugging off her hand. “You never cared for me, and yet, you accepted my proposal.” His gaze dropped to hers, and he took a sudden step toward her. “You lied!”
Staring up at him, Abigail swallowed hard. “I did care for you,” she said on a shuddering breath. “I do. I still do. I—”
Unwilling to listen to her lies, Nathanial turned away, quick strides carrying him away from her.
“Wait!” Abigail called, her small footsteps churning on the gravel as she rushed after him. Her hand grasped his arm and, again, Nathanial thought of Charlaine as she had come after him at the lake. “Please, listen to me, Nathanial.” Abigail’s eyes were wide as they looked up into his pleadingly. “You need to know the truth.”
“I do,” he gritted out. “Your words just now confirmed that which your actions have already revealed.”
Her hand gripped his arm, her head shaking from side to side. “No, you don’t. You don’t know anything. You don’t know why I did what I did. It took me a year to realize it myself, to understand the desperate need that fueled me when I…”
“When you betrayed me!” Nathanial barked, his anger finally resurfacing. It boiled in his blood and settled in his chest, a crushing weight, a dull ache, a suffocating pain, startling and almost foreign for he had not felt it in weeks.
Not like this.
“You’re right,” Abigail admitted, her blue eyes lively as he remembered them. “I did betray you. I did. You have every right to be angry with me, and I came here to give you the chance to yell at me, to tell me what an awful person I am, to—”
“Why?” Nathanial asked, confusion mixing with the anger. “Why would you do that?”
Abigail stilled. “Because you need to,” she finally said. “When I told you I could not marry you, you never…you became quiet. You barely said a word. You simply turned and left.” She shook her head and sighed. “Whether you like it or not, I know you. I’ve known you almost all my life, and I know what you do when someone hurts you. I know how you retreat, lock yourself away and suffer in silence.” Her hands reached for his. “It’ll destroy you if you let it. So, yell at me now. Free yourself of this anger.” Tears pooled in her eyes. “So you may be free to live again.”
Staring down at her, Nathanial felt his hands close around hers. “You feel guilty,” he mumbled, wondering at the woman before him. Never had he known her like this.
“I do,” Abigail admitted as tears ran down her cheeks. “I do feel guilty, but I also love you.”
Nathanial jerked back. “Don’t lie again!” he snapped, once more turning to walk away.
“I’m not lying,” she insisted as she rushed to block his path. “I didn’t realize it then, but I truly did love you.” A sob escaped her lips. “I felt pushed over the edge. I felt the need to rebel against everything my father demanded of me that I didn’t stop to ask myself what it was I truly wanted. I simply acted against him, against his wishes, against the life he had planned for me.” She swallowed hard, her jaw trembling as she wiped at her tears. “And that life included you. You were part of his plan. You’ve always been, and so I pushed you away. I wanted to free myself. I couldn’t think beyond anything other than that.”
Regret, deep and crippling, rested in her blue eyes, a feeling Nathanial knew only too well. How often had he felt like a fool for not seeing something that had been right in front of him? Never had he noticed how trapped she had felt. Never had he seen the struggle that had been hers. How was this possible? Was she lying now? But why?
His gaze swept over her, then he suddenly surged forward, grasped her wrist and pulled her against him. She gasped as his eyes locked on hers, searching, demanding the truth. “You gave away my father’s ring,” he accused in a menacing voice.
Her eyes closed, shame visible in the way her head sank. “I know,” she gasped, sobs rising from her throat. “It was unforgivable. I did it to push you away, to make certain that nothing my father would say could sway you back to my side.” Her eyes opened and looked up into his. “I’m so sorry, Nathanial. I tried to get it back. I wrote to him, but…” She shook her head, such anguish in her eyes that Nathanial felt his own heart calm.
“Zach retrieved it,” he told her, surprised by the desire to ease her suffering. “It now rests upon his wife’s finger.”
Relief and joy claimed Abigail’s features at his words, and she all but sank into his arms, resting her forehead against his chest. “Oh, thank you. Thank you. Thank you,” she mumbled over and over again.
Releasing her wrist, Nathanial stepped back, wondering at the odd sense of serenity that settled in his chest. Indeed, Abigail had wronged him, betrayed him, but she had not done so out of malice, but out of desperation. Knowing that did not ease the pain she had caused him nor did it erase the past two years. Still, a part of him could acknowledge that she had suffered at the hands of her overbearing father. Only she had always been so vivacious that Nathanial had had no doubt that she had been her true self, that she would have spoken up had she wished to. But perhaps he had been wrong.
Looking at Abigail now, Nathanial wondered how well he had ever truly known her. Perhaps he, too, had failed her for not noticing her struggle.
“Will you not yell at me?” she asked, blinking away her tears. Her right sleeve was already soaked, and so she switched to the other, dabbing it at her eyes. “You ought to,” she told him. “It is why I came.”
Nathanial drew in a slow breath. “I do not think I need to.” A small smile teased his lips. “Thank you for coming. What will you do now?”
Abigail shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Will you return to Boston?” he asked, noting the way her shoulders sagged as though she no longer had the strength to hold herself up now that she had accomplished what she had come here to do. “To your family?”
Again, she shrugged. “Where else would I go?”
Nathanial frowned. “You said your father wanted you to marry.” A question swung in his voice that Abigail understood.
A sad smile came to her lips. “Every rebellion has its price,” she told him, straightening her shoulders. “My father made it very clear that I am nothing without him. If I don’t marry a man of his choosing, he will cut me off.” Again, she dabbed her sleeve to her eyes. “I’m a woman. I have nothing of my own. I’m only ever someone’s daughter. I will be someone’s wife and then, one day, someone’s mother. What I never will be is my own person.” A shuddering breath left her lips before she forced her lips upward into a brave, little smile. “I want you to be happy, and I hope my coming here will bring you closure.” She stepped closer, and her hand settled on his arm. “Goodbye, Nathanial.” Then she turned and stepped away.
“Why didn’t you talk to me?” Nathanial asked, touched by what she had shared with him. If only she had done so two years ago.
Looking back at him, Abigail shrugged. “I don’t know. I should have. I know that now.” She sighed. “Some regrets we’ll have to live with.” She cast him a gentle smile and then once more turned to go.
“Stay!” The word flew from his lips before Nathanial could catch a clear thought. He all but flinched as his own ears perceived it, and he could not help but wonder if he had lost his mind. Still, it had been the look in Abigail’s eyes that had reminded him of something. That look that whispered of a desperate need, of someone standing on t
he edge of a dark abyss, someone alone and lost.
Nathanial knew how that felt. He had stood on that edge himself and he had thought that there would be no turning back.
And then Charlaine had found him.
Despite his refusal, she had fought for him. She had held out her hand and pulled him back from the abyss. She had answered his need and been his friend. She had saved him in every way one person could save another.
Deep down, Nathanial knew he ought to have been that person for Abigail two years ago. Although she had not confided in him, he, too, had failed to notice the pain in her heart. He ought to have. He ought to have been her friend then.
He had not.
But he could be her friend now.
“Stay?” Abigail whispered, a deep frown coming to her face. “What do you mean?”
Nathanial drew in a deep breath. “If you act against your own wishes, you will forever regret it. If you want, stay here and find a new life for yourself.”
Her jaw trembled. “You’d do this for me? After everything I…”
Nathanial nodded. “We were friends once,” he told her. “We can be again.” Oddly enough, the thought of her no longer pained him. Her coming here had indeed brought him closure, and he felt lighter than he ever had before.
Holding his gaze, Abigail stepped closer. “Do you truly mean it?”
“I do,” he told her, knowing it to be the right thing to do. Abigail needed someone to stand at her side, just as he had needed someone only a few weeks past. For him, that someone had been Charlaine.
“Oh, I would love nothing more,” Abigail gasped as tears filled her eyes. Relief stood on her face. Nathanial thought for a moment that he glimpsed something more. In all likelihood, it was only her longing for freedom and security and a new start. Nothing more. Nevertheless, Nathanial thought it right to set some ground rules so that neither one of them would get confused about where their relationship was headed.
He cleared his throat. “If it is your wish,” he began, feeling slightly at odds about the way he spoke to her again after all this time, “we shall be friends again, but only friends.”
