by Tessa Bowen
The Baroness declined politely, patting her enlarged stomach. “Oh, no thank you—I’d only slow you down, I’m afraid.”
“I wonder if fairies can get pregnant.”
The Duke’s eyes danced as he directed his comment to his wife. “I’m sure fairies breed quite nicely.”
The Duchess smirked as she took Charlotte’s hand. “We’ll be back in a while. You two can catch up.”
With that, the fairies flitted off, chasing each other across the neat landscape. An awkward silence fell between the two old friends. Abigail realized she hadn’t been alone with Trevor since that fateful night when he’d ended things. That seemed like a lifetime ago.
She noticed he was staring down at her with an odd expression. “It was very nice of you to come visit me,” she said softly.
“I couldn’t leave you alone in such a state, old girl.”
They exchanged fond smiles and Abigail experienced relief so overwhelming that she almost took his arm for support, but thought better of it.
“I am in a sorry state, aren’t I?”
“Not so sorry. Shall we walk?”
“I’d like that.”
They strolled in silence for a few moments and the Baroness took a few steadying breaths. She surveyed her lands, glad to hear the giggling of fairies in the distance. Maybe Isabel and Charlotte would leave a bit of their brightness behind. Sutton Place had always been her home, but she’d never quite settled in. She’d always felt more comfortable at Devoy, which was just down the road. Sutton Place was a good deal cozier, but she’d never found it so. It certainly didn’t fall into the “power house category”, but it was still a perfectly impressive country manor house (if a minor one), boasting all the usual trimmings—a good-sized and immaculately manicured parkland (not exactly sprawling), but nice and lush and wide, a well-designed garden maze as well as a walled garden, a pond, formidable stables and all the other typical features of a fine and stately 18th century rural dwelling, fit for any member of England’s ruling class. Her family line wasn’t too old, but old enough that she’d inherited this estate from her father outright and just old enough to win her rank among the viper club. Although in truth, it was the man beside her who had established her status. She supposed she should be more grateful and love her home, but she never had. Even though her dear father had given it to her, she only remembered the cruel abuse she’d endured here. Somehow, as long as she was on this property, she still felt like that chubby lonely girl her mother had ridiculed.
Her hands went to her belly, fingers caressing the taut skin there. If she had a daughter, would she feel the same about the place? She could only pray she’d be the parent her father was. She simply wouldn’t allow her mother’s influence to taint her relationship with her offspring.
“What are you fretting about, Abigail?”
This man knew her all too well.
“I’m not fretting,” she lied. “Just wondering what sex the baby is. I’ve decided not to find out, but I do hope it’s a boy.”
“Are you terrified a girl will turn out like Charlotte?” he joked.
Abigail gave a gentle laugh. “Boys have an easier go of it. I just want her to be happy. If it is indeed a girl…”
“You’ve changed. I like you like this.”
“Round you mean?”
“You’re softer…”
“I’ll say.”
“You seem less like a…”
“Reptile?”
They shared another chuckle.
“Yes, quite—less like a reptile and more like a mother. Anyway, it’s a definite improvement. I think pregnancy agrees with you.”
He took her hand, helping her around a stone that had fallen loose from the walled rose garden.
“I’m glad you think so.”
“But I’m still quite peeved with you about before.”
“I know—I was truly rotten. I don’t deserve your friendship and I certainly don’t deserve the kindness your lovely wife has shown me.”
“She is lovely, isn’t she?”
Just then another peal of feminine glee tinkled though the air.
“I’m so glad your life is filled with laughter now, Trevor. I never could have given you that.”
“We gave each other support, when we each needed it most,” he told her matter-of-factly. “As well as pleasure.”
She looked away, feeling strangely embarrassed.
“That’s all over now,” he continued. “I mean the pleasure part. I’ll still lend you my support in any way I can though.”
The Baroness looked up at the man who had been the most important figure in her life. He was starkly handsome in the bright mid-morning light. His red hair had faded a bit with time, but his looks hadn’t. She liked the crinkles developing around his eyes. She thought of a different set of crinkles on a different man—a much younger man—a man with skin very unlike this man’s. Trevor had charming freckles, which contrasted with his aristocratic features. Jack had a sun-bronzed face and a ruggedly chiseled countenance. She couldn’t help but draw comparisons. Both men were terribly handsome, but so different. It wasn’t fair really that one woman should be so lucky as to have two men in her life so handsome.
Then again, she didn’t have Jack Johnson, did she?
“You don’t have to worry, Trevor. I’m through plotting and I’m through loving you.”
“Well, you don’t have to let me down so hard, old girl.”
“All those years I was so intent on having what I wanted, and I thought it was you. I never realized that we aren’t right for each other. Not as a love match anyway. Of course we could have been a power couple, but we never would have truly fulfilled each other. We’re better as friends.”
“It pleases me to hear you say that.”
She gave his hand a little squeeze. “We’ve always been good friends, haven’t we?”
“Indeed. And we’ll continue to be just that, but Abigail…I feel I must apologize as well.”
She looked at him in confusion. “For what?”
“I wasn’t always good to you.”
“I wasn’t always good to myself. I hung on too long.”
“Will you be good to yourself now?”
“I’ll try—and if I fail at it, I have Archie.” She gave him a pointed look. “He is very good to me. I can’t thank you enough. I wouldn’t have survived this without him.”
“Call it a parting gift, but Archie shouldn’t be the only man to help you. When do you expect your young husband back?”
Abigail tensed and looked away. “Oh, I don’t think he’s coming back.”
“Not coming back.” Trevor repeated in an outraged tone. “Whatever do you mean? Shall I send out the dogs?”
“I made a fool of myself.”
“Oh dear, is that a blush I see? I know what that means. Now that I think of it, I haven’t seen you blush since we were children. You remember that time in the garden when I won the bet and got to peek into your knickers. You blushed then.”
“I seem to blush a lot now. I think it’s the pregnancy.”
“More likely it’s the man. Your man I should say.”
“He’s not my man—far from it. He doesn’t want me…”
“Nonsense, what man wouldn’t want you? You’re a baroness and a virtual goddess.”
“He doesn’t approve of all that.”
“Well, he must have wanted you enough to bloody impregnate you.”
They came to the end of the rock wall. The Baroness found herself wanting to hide behind it. “It wasn’t really like that—it’s hard to explain, and I think I’d rather die than try. Let’s just say it wasn’t one of my finer moments.”
“He’ll return. I’d put money on it.”
Abigail cringed as she remembered her shocking behavior on their wedding night. “Believe me when I tell you I’ve scared him off for good. It’s been six weeks and no word.”
“Jack Johnson doesn’t seem like he’d scare easily.
Perhaps he isn’t the sort of chap to send messages while he’s away. I think you should take a second look at this husband of yours. I saw the way he looked at you when you were dancing.”
“It was all for show, Trevor. He disliked me from the start.”
“And did you see his reaction when I tried to cut in? He looked like he wanted to pulverize my face into a fine powder. A man doesn’t express that degree of jealousy without having feelings.”
“He does always bristle when I mention your name—I don’t really understand it.”
“You’re a stupid old sow, aren’t you?”
She gaped at him as she laughed. “What an unkind thing to say!”
“The man burns for you, can’t you see that?”
Abigail’s face suffused with fresh heat at the thought, but she feigned indifference. “Oh, pish. I’m too old for him.”
“You’re not too old for anyone, my dear. Yes, I think you should take a second look at this Mr. Johnson.”
“I doubt I’ll ever get the chance.”
“Handsome bloody bugger, isn’t he, and well-built too. They say he’s more handsome than the Devil Duke.”
“But he’s nowhere near as dashing,” she assured him as he bent over her hand to brush a kiss there.
Just then the fairies appeared, their shimmering wings covered in mud.
“Leave it to you two to find the filth on this property,” Trevor quipped.
“We waded through the duck pond,” Isabel told him, rising on her tippy toes for a peck. “It was a little messy.”
“Apparently.”
The Duke came away scathed. His wife left a nice brown streak on his cheek and Abigail hid her smile as Isabel pointed it out.
“Oops, I think I ‘filthed’ you. Did you bring your hankie?”
Trevor waved her off. “I forgot—no matter. I’ll clean up later.”
Abigail couldn’t resist. “You’ve changed too, Trevor. I remember a time when a speck of dust would send you into a fit of apoplexy.”
“Well, it’s only dirt, isn’t it? But of course I’ll be giving myself a good scrub-down with lye as soon as I get home.”
Trevor tugged his wife and daughter close, not seeming to mind their soiled wings crushing against his immaculate shirtfront.
“You guys ok?” Isabel asked her husband.
“Yes, right as rain—aren’t we, old girl.”
Abigail nodded in agreement.
Charlotte allowed her father to pluck leaves and twigs out of her errant curls. “Can we share our news with the Baroness, Daddy?”
“What news is this?” Abigail piped up.
“Perhaps a different time, my darling…”
The little girl gave it away when she laid a small freckled hand across her stepmother’s belly.
The Baroness’s eyes widened. “Are you…?”
Isabel nodded shyly. “Just six weeks. I wanted to wait to tell you…”
“We were concerned what with all the changes you’ve had in your life lately,” Trevor told her. “We figured you’ve had enough to get used to.”
Abigail’s lovely features softened in a heartfelt smile. “I’m overjoyed for both of you.”
“You’re really happy for us?” Isabel asked softly.
“Yes, now my child will have a friend.” The Baroness reached out to the young Duchess, choking back the lump in her throat as the girl clasped her hand and held it lovingly. “Oh, blast. I wish you had brought a hankie, Trevor.”
“Is that a tear?” The Duke asked in disbelief. “I’ve never seen you cry. Well, there was that one time when you and Talia Ellsworth wore the same dress at the British Museum gala. Then again, maybe it was just smoke in your eyes.”
“Another awkward symptom of my pregnancy, I’m afraid. And if Talia Ellsworth ever thinks about dressing like me again, I’ll have her embalmed and displayed in the ancient Egypt exhibit.”
THE TEARS CONTINUED THROUGHOUT THE DAY and into the early evening. She would swear her abundance of tears had caused enough humidity to kink her hair. She’d given up on smoothing and checking her chignon. Besides, her fingers were so wet from wiping tears it would only add to her frizz problem.
She sat curled in the window seat of her parlor, sniffling into her sleeve. The sun was setting on another day. Another day without…
Him.
Fresh tears welled in her eyes. She let them fall into her tea cup as she stared forlornly into the amber liquid. The Duke and Duchess’s news had not caused these tears. She was truly happy for them—happy for the friendship they offered. Their affection and support really should be enough to bring her contentment. And she had a new life to consider—a new life that had grown extremely large in the last few weeks, so large that the only position she was comfortable in was sitting with her legs curled up or walking. She couldn’t pace all day, so she sat in this spot a lot, especially at sunset.
Abigail didn’t blame the life inside her for her discomfort. She was used to being uncomfortable. Years of starving herself and high heels meant she was accustomed to physical torment. She’d work through the pain with dignity, and for now, she’d eat and wear flats. That was one benefit, she supposed. The tears weren’t from the happy bulletin and they weren’t from the pain in her back either. She wept for a man she hardly knew and yet felt so connected to that the loss of him threatened to undo her.
She wondered if it was his baby in her womb that amplified her yearning. Or perhaps it was the hormones that had caused her latest bout of insanity—this amount of weeping truly was deranged. She was like a lovesick teenager. She’d never been in such a pathetic state before and couldn’t quite understand it. Perhaps her emotions were false and therefore unreliable. She hadn’t been herself since she’d met the man, and now she didn’t know if it was the man or the pregnancy that caused her to weep. She only knew she missed him, longed for him really, not only for her child but for herself (as strange as that was).
They hadn’t spent much time together, but the time they’d spent together had been exhilarating. She couldn’t possibly miss their bickering, could she? But there had been laughter too and familiarity. That was what she supposed she yearned for most. She’d been familiar with Trevor, but not completely. She was always too worried about how she looked or concerned about keeping up with other women to truly relax. She had let go around this man in a way that surprised her. Perhaps she was more herself with him than she ever had been.
Whoever that is…
Now she would never know, because he was gone and gone for good (most likely). Fresh tears sprung to her burning eyes when she recalled her most recent stint of outrageous behavior. Her conduct on their “wedding night” had shamed them both. He had quite literally run for the hills—that’s how atrocious she had been. Now her child would have no father and all because her libido rivaled Jabba the Hutt’s appetite. She resembled Jabba more and more each day. Her baby would probably shriek in horror when they met.
Abigail massaged her aching brow as she recalled the burning desire she’d felt for Jack Johnson that night. He had been so charming and masterful at their reception, thoughtful even. He had tormented her too (before the ceremony) and had teased her a little. She had never been teased before and Abigail found she rather liked it. He had given her that soft kiss at the Register Office and then had spun her on the dance floor with artful ease. She had felt light as a feather in his arms, even with her protruding bump. Later, in the hotel room when he’d laid his hand on her abdomen, she’d gone wild. That’s all it had taken—a simple placement of his palm and she’d attacked him like a sex-starved maniac. The man was too bloody attractive, that was the problem. That body of his screamed to be touched. She had never been so drawn to a man physically, not even Trevor. She supposed her lack of experience with the opposite sex hadn’t served her well.
Yes, she’d woken up alongside the Devil Duke for nearly two decades (not that she’d ever slept a wink). Sleeping would involve actually pressing he
r face into the pillow which would lead to unattractive crinkles upon waking. She’d mastered the practice of giving oral sex without mussing her hair and she knew just how to pose on all fours to highlight her toned behind during rear-entry sex. She also knew which side was her best when she threw her head back and made a show of climaxing, whimpering and sighing and making all the other required female sounds. She knew precisely what pleased one man, but she’d never really learned what pleased her.
My faraway cowboy’s hot hands apparently.
She’d never know the feel of those hot hands again. She’d dashed her chance at a family. He hadn’t offered a traditional arrangement of course, but she knew they had enough rapport between them. They could have made some sort of a go at it, for the child’s sake at least. Maybe a relationship would have grown between them. Stranger things have happened in this crazy world.
She recalled the way he had placed her shoes next to his, so neatly as if they belonged there. The two pairs had made quite the happy couple. What sort of a desperate ninny was she that the placement of footwear had sent her over the moon? It wasn’t just the shoes. It was much more than that. For a brief moment she had known domestic bliss. Well, perhaps not bliss but banter. She’d always assumed the life of a mistress suited her just fine. She’d never craved marriage, only the power and position it offered, but to live a life so intertwined with another’s had never appealed to her until now.
Now that it’s too late…
The Baroness started when a gentle rap sounded at the door. She barely had time to collect herself before Archie peeked in.
“Shall I send Gracie in to refresh your tea, My Lady?”
“No, I’m swimming in tears. I mean…tea.”
Abigail cringed. There was no hiding her misery, even in the dim lamplight of the parlor.
“Oh, My Lady…”
She gave a dry laugh. “Don’t mind me—just another unpleasant symptom of pregnancy, I’m afraid.”
The old man came to her, taking a blanket off the back of a chair. Tenderly, he wrapped the lightweight wool throw around the Baroness’s shoulders. She wiped at fresh tears and smiled her thanks.
