Once again, her stomach turned over. Perhaps she had been wrong or mistaken in her belief. What did she know of babies? Yet the tenderness of her breasts. The upset stomach for the last two weeks. It hadn’t been worry. No, it had been her body reacting to the child growing inside of her.
Oh, how she wished she could talk to her mother about it. This sense of abandoned aloneness was overwhelming. As if she were the last person in the world. If only Jack were here. No. she couldn’t tell him. He would insist on being honorable and hate her forever. No, she must disappear. It was the only solution. Never to see him again.
Abigail scooted to the edge of her chair, alone in the parlor, as she once again examined the piece of paper. No, she had been correct the first thirteen times she had counted. In addition, if she were honest with herself. Her soul told her she was with child. She knew. She just knew. Long ago, she had learned to listen to her body. Her injuries demanded that she become ever vigilant. She knew herself and she was with child. There was no doubt.
What now? She asked herself as a stunned nervousness filled her. What now?
Wait, she told herself. It was too early. She wondered how many women throughout history had lost their baby in the first few months. How many had kept their secret and never shared it. Only to suffer alone and in silence when they lost their child.
What other choice did she have? No, she would keep her secret at least until it could no longer be hidden. And while the intelligent thought would be to hope for failure. Deep down, she couldn’t wish for that. No, she hoped she had this child. Even if it meant banishment. Even if her father and mother grew to hate her. No, she wanted this child.
Perhaps the Americas. She could run to a new country. Pretend to be a widow. Perhaps her husband had been killed in the wars. A sailor, she thought with a wan smile. Yes, that was perhaps the best option. Run away.
Her father would be livid. But if she never shared the name of the baby’s sire. What choice did he have? The only solution would be for her to leave.
That was the plan then. Wait, and when it became undeniable, then, and only then, inform her parents, and shortly after, leave for the Americas.
It would mean giving up her home, the life she had always known. It would mean never seeing Jack again. Of course not. She couldn’t afford him knowing the truth. No, it was to be just her and her baby.
Please, she begged as she gently rubbed her stomach while a tear slowly traveled down her cheek. Please!
The opening of the parlor door pulled her back to real life. She quickly wiped at her tears then kept her head down as she tied to focus on her lace project.
“There you are,” her mother said. “Carswell mentioned that you had not been in for breakfast.
Abigail bit back a nasty response about their butler minding his own business. Instead, she merely shrugged her shoulders. All while refusing to look up at her mother. If she did, she just knew she would expose everything.
Oh, how she wished she could throw herself into her mother’s arms.
“Well,” her mother said as she retrieved her needlepoint, “Lady Ferguson is coming for dinner. She mentioned at her last visit that her son has returned home for the month. You know James Ferguson don’t you? He’s not due to inherit. Two older brothers. But a nice young man, don’t you think?”
Abigail could only clench her teeth. Her mother was prodding and pushing.
“I thought, perhaps a dinner party next week. The Vicar, Lord Langley and his wife. Perhaps a few others. And the Fergusons of course.”
Abigail glanced up. Her mouth dropped open in disbelief. “Oh, Mother,” she huffed as she pushed herself up on her cane. No, this could never be allowed, her mother trying to marry her off. What would Lady Ferguson think? She and every other person she knew would turn their backs and dismiss Abigail as worse than a common whore.
She was supposed to be better. She was supposed to hold up the standards of society. Her failure brought disrepute on all of the aristocracy.
Abigail could well imagine the looks of disdain and disapproval. It would be so much worse than the looks of pity and dismissal she was used to. No, those were based upon an accident. Not a failure of choice. What made it even worse. She had not only chosen to lay with a man not her husband. No, she had allowed herself to become with child.
A bastard by a bastard. There was no worse action. She could have betrayed her country to the French and received quicker forgiveness.
.o0o.
Jack ground his teeth in frustration. Ten days of strong pursuit had left him empty-handed. Not a single clue as to his attackers. No rumor. No story whispered in the bowels of London’s under quarter. Not even a hint as to who had repeatedly tried to kill him.
He had offered rewards, hired runners, cornered criminals and thieves. Nothing. It was enough to make a man think there was nothing to find. His last attempt with a Mr. Brubaker in East London had been fruitless.
Jack actually believed the man had wanted to help. The king’s ransom might have been a motivating factor. But that was beside the point. He didn’t care how he discovered the information he wanted. But it was useless. And perhaps the only man who could help lay in his parlor with a fever, fighting an infection.
“Carmichael,” Jack yelled as he stormed into the house. The butler appeared from the far hall, his eyebrows raised, obviously upset at being summoned with a yell.
“Thompson?” Jack asked him as he handed over his gloves and new hat.
The butler scrunched his nose. “No changes, Your Grace. But, the man has visitors.”
Jack frowned. “The Doctor?”
Carmichael shook his head as he handed off the hat and gloves to a footman. “No, sir.”
Ignoring the disgusted look Carmichael tried to hide, Jack stormed into the parlor. He had insisted Thompson recuperate here in this central room. It provided better access to the doctor and allowed Jack to keep an eye on his friend’s care.
He was surprised to find Mrs. Jensen, Bedford’s housekeeper standing next to Thompson’s bed, her hand gently resting on his arm. Thompson was awake, his brow shinning with fever. In the far corner, a large man in workman’s clothes twisted his cap in his hands.
The man appeared out of place, like a wild animal, his eyes darting about, looking for an escape.
“Mrs. Jensen,” Jack said as he closed the door behind him.
The woman looked up with a small smile, but he could tell behind her eyes that she was not happy with Thompson’s recovery. Or lack thereof. She looked down at Thompson and gave him a reassuring smile.
“The doctor has just left, Your Grace,” Mrs. Jensen said. “He has agreed to allow us to give willow tea to Robert. I’ve sent for some. Really, the man should have ordered it days ago.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. Fourteen years and he’d never even known that Thompson’s first name was Robert.
The sailor rolled his eyes, shooting Jack a look that begged to be saved from meddlesome women. Jack stared back, silently telling the man to shut up and do what he was told.
“Thank you, Mrs. Jensen,” Jack said as he bit his tongue. Obviously, something strange was going on. The thought of Thompson and Mrs. Jensen seemed strange. But not completely unheard of. She was still a handsome woman and he … well, he was Thompson, a force of nature.
Jack glanced over at the strange man in the corner. Thompson saw his interest and smiled. “Like I told you Capt’n the woman weaves a web better than a spider.”
Mrs. Jensen pulled herself up to stand a little taller as she shook her head. “Really Robert, I don’t know if I find the image flattering.”
Thompson shot her a quick smile then looked over at Jack. “This one here,” he said, as he nodded to the stranger in the corner. “She found him. Don’t ask me how.”
Mrs. Jensen sighed heavily then motioned for the man to step forward. “One of our maids, Mary, is sister to a cook in one of the wealthier homes not far from here. The cook’s husband, a footman, ha
d a brother. A man recently having returned from His Majesty’s Army in Portugal.”
Jack stared at her as he tried to understand what he was hearing. It didn’t make any sense. What did this have with his attackers?
Mrs. Jensen indicated for the strange man to speak.
The man continued to twirl his cap from hand to hand as he first looked at Mrs. Jensen then at Jack. It was easy to see his nervousness. Jack bit back a command for the man to hurry up. Instead, he removed a gold sovereign from his jacket pocket and tossed it to the man.
Catching it in the air, the man looked down at it then back up at Jack. “I’d rather have a job, Your Grace.”
Jack paused for a moment. “If what you can tell me is of assistance. Then you may keep the coin and still have a job.”
The man smiled as he slipped the coin into his pocket. “I believe I can be helping, Your Grace. If’n you want the man after you. I can maybe help.”
Freezing in place, Jack studied the man intensely. Surely it wasn’t that easy.
“Don’t be gett’n me wrong, Your Grace,” the man said. “It ain’t like I’m a nose …”
It took Jack a moment to translate the phrase to informer.
“… But,” the man continued, “when it’s amongst you lot. I don’t feel it’s wrong. Not really.”
Jack frowned. “What do you mean, you lot?”
“Lords, Your Grace. When you lot is trying to kill each other off. We learn to stay out of the way. It’s like elephants stomping about.”
Jack’s gut tightened. “Lords? Who? How do you know?”
The man shrugged. “A friend asked me to help. It seems a Lord wanted another Lord killed. Not unheard of. But like I said, Elephants. It’s never wise to get involved. So, I told him no. Not this time.”
“Who?” Jack demanded.
The stranger said, “My friend wouldn’t tell me. But I seen him meet with a fancy dressed man, in the back of the Boar’s Head. And I known him.”
It took every bit of effort not to yell. He needed that name.
“You sees, Your Grace,” the man continued. “I knew the Lord. Seen him when I visited my brother and his wife after I come back from Portugal.”
“Mary’s sister,” Mrs. Jensen interjected, “works for Lord Bristol.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Jack bit back a curse. It made sense. The only enemy he had ever known, here in Britain had been Barty. The evil scourge of his existence. The boy had hated him because he refused to kiss his arse. The man had cultivated that hate. Building it ever higher. Only to learn that Jack had become a peer.
The knowledge must have broken what little hold on sanity the man had left.
That very night, Jack realized. Barty had left the party and found two thieves to attack him. When that failed, he found three others, this time with a pistol, directly outside his home. Finally, the attempt with the musket. The shot that had taken Thompson.
Then there was the threat to Abigail. Of course, Jack realized now. It had been a threat against him. The man had simply used Abigail because he knew it would cause the most pain.
“Damn,” Jack said as he turned and stormed out of the room.
“Capt’n,” Thompson yelled after him, his voice weak and broken. “Take the others.”
Jack ignored him as he turned and passed out through the kitchen into the back yard, across the alley, and into the mews. The stable boy looked up from plaiting a rope, terrified he’d done something wrong.
“A horse,” Jack demanded. It would be quicker than waiting for a carriage to be put together. The boy jumped up and began to quickly prepare a mount.
“Your Grace,” a voice called from the door to the mews. Jack turned to find Carmichael standing there with two dueling pistols. “Mr. Thompson insisted.”
Jack forced down the anger bubbling inside of him. No, he must do this intelligently. Sighing heavily, he took the two pistols and tucked them into his belt. “Thank you.”
Carmichael grimaced slightly. Jack knew the man wanted to say something, but he chose to keep his words to himself before leaving.
Grinding his teeth, Jack began to pace while he waited for the horse. When the boy brought him out, Jack swung up into the saddle and was off. The sooner he dealt with good old Barty, the sooner he could relax.
The anger inside felt like a raging furnace. How dare the man threaten Abigail. All to get at him. Three times he had tried to kill him. Always hiding behind others. Getting other men to do his dirty work. Just as at school. It was always Barty’s friends that took the risks and suffered the outcome.
There had been that one time, Jack thought with a smile. Barty and his friends had caught him behind the barn. Lord Bristol had stood aside and directed the other boys to attack him. Jack had quickly dealt with them before throwing an elbow that caught good old Barty just below the eye. The man still carried the scar.
Well, he’d receive a lot more than a simple scar this time.
Bristol’s house was much like every other house on the street. Large, white stone, a view of the park. Jack tied off his horse and raced up the steps to pound on the front door.
The butler looked as if he wished to be anywhere but there at that moment.
“Tell Lord Bristol that The Duke of Oxford wishes a moment, please.”
The man frowned, “I’m sorry, Your Grace, Lord Bristol is not here at the moment. He departed for Beaumont, his Reading estate, yesterday morning.”
Jack’s stomach fell. Abigail’s home was just outside of Theil, a few miles away. Of course, she had mentioned that the Bristol family were friends of the Duponts.
A sick worry began to build inside of Jack. Had Barty gone to confront Abigail? To tell the tale directly to her family. Was he that foolish? Surely, he must know that Jack would carry out his threat. If one word was exposed, the man would die.
Within seconds Jack was racing through London. The man had a day’s march on him.
Abigail. The thought of her embarrassment ate at his stomach. The woman deserved angels and rainbows. She deserved a life of happiness. Not this constant threat. To top it off. He had assured her that she need never fear.
The thought of Bristol confronting her, in her own home. In front of her family. No. it could not be allowed. He clenched his fists around the reins as he guided his horse onto the main road. No, nothing could ever be allowed to hurt this special woman.
Everything had changed so quickly. Mrs. Jensen’s stranger with his story. Bristol being gone so conveniently. That familiar sense of doom settled over him once again. He fought to shrug it off and might very well have succeeded if it weren’t for the three men waiting for him on the road.
Three roughly dressed men stood abreast of the road, waiting for him. One appeared to be the smaller thief from the park, that first night.
He was but a few miles out of London and now it all made sense. The story from the stranger had been a way to draw him out. Bristol going to his estate in Reading had ensured he would follow. And now these three men, each standing in the road, their hands up, telling him to stop. Each with a pistol pointed at him.
Yes, now he understood. Bristol had maneuvered him into this spot. And what is worse, he was so positive of success that the man would surely ruin Abigail. To him, it would be an added pleasure.
Jack groaned with disappointment. Three armed me, ready to fire against his two pistols still tucked into his belt. Not the best of odds.
.o0o.
Abigail slowly ran her hand down over the front of her dress. It was too early to show. Yet, still, she worried. How long could she keep her secret? Several times she had caught her mother giving her a questioning frown. She knew something was wrong but could not put her finger on the cause. And Abigail was not yet ready to share the news.
Especially not tonight. Her mother had worked so hard to make tonight a success. The first dinner party she had given in almost a dozen years. Even her father had gotten into the mood by breaking out hi
s last two bottles of Brandy.
Abigail swallowed the rising panic inside as she took a deep breath. Remain calm, she told herself. Just get through tonight. She would deal with her … issue … tomorrow. Or next week. Or perhaps if she was lucky, next month. But not tonight. This was her mother’s night.
Once again, she smoothed her dress. The cream-colored gown Jack had given her after his being wounded.
How was he? she wondered. Was he doing well? Had he found a wife? She hoped it was someone he could come to love. Someone he was not forced to take as his bride.
A sadness filled her. No, she thought. Not tonight. Pasting on the best of her smiles, she pulled the parlor door open.
Her mother greeted her immediately slipping an arm into hers and pulling her into the room. But as always, being careful not to pull too fast and upset her daughter’s balance.
“You will never guess who has arrived,” her mother said with a bright smile. Obviously overjoyed at having an extra guest.
Abigail raised an eyebrow in question.
“Lord Bristol,” her mother said as she waved her hand to the far corner of the room.
Abigail’s heart sank as her stomach clenched into a tight ball. Surely life could get no worse.
“Lady Ferguson suggested he attend. He has just arrived from London this morning and wished to join us. It has been years since he visited. I’ve had to make some adjustments to the seating arrangements,” her mother continued, unaware her daughter had stopped breathing. “One extra man. Throws off the entire balance. I hope you don’t mind but I’ve put him next to you.”
Clenching her teeth, Abigail forced down the illness threatening to embarrass her in front of her mother’s guests. But if she showed one sign of distress her mother would pester and prod in search of an answer. And the way she was feeling, Abigail feared she might divulge the truth just to end the stress and strain.
She gave her mother her best smile. Her mother relaxed obviously happy that a minor problem had been resolved.
Smiling at the other guests, Abigail tried to indulge in light banter and small talk. All the while, her stomach churned, waiting for a bomb to explode as she continually kept one eye on her hated enemy. What was the man doing here? Hadn’t Jack said the matter was dealt with. Yet, here he was. Did Jack know? What would he do when he found out?
A Duke's Duty (The Duke's Club Book 2) Page 17
