by Bryn Donovan
But he shook his head vehemently. “No, it is not enough,” he whispered. “And if I may, I want to take you somewhere. I have discovered something else in my investigation. Something that will not right the wrongs of the past, but will give you something back, at least.”
Her eyes widened in confusion. “What? What do you mean?”
He smiled slowly. “It is a surprise,” he said slowly. “If you will come with me, I can show you.” He hesitated. “I need to prove to you how sincere I am. To show you, through actions, and not words.” He paused again, staring at her intently. “Will you come with me, Abigail?”
She wiped away her tears with the back of her hand, staring up at him. He did not speak again; he merely watched her, waiting for her reply.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I will come with you.”
Chapter Twelve
Abigail’s heart thudded painfully as she gazed at him, sitting across from her in the grand carriage. He had left her swiftly, after assuring her promise to come with him, telling her that he would pick her up in an hour. He would not tell her anything more, of where he was taking her, or what they were doing. The only thing that he told her was that she should bring her earring. Her lucky charm.
She had almost collapsed after he left, her mind spinning violently. He had turned her whole world upside down, once again; it was just sheer luck, that Lord and Lady Nightingale were out for the day, so she did not have to explain to them, at least, why a duke had called upon their maid. But Clara had swooped down on her, demanding to know what was going on. She had tearfully confessed everything to her friend – who she truly was, how she had discovered it, and her feelings for the Duke of Wycliff. She had also told her that he believed her, and that he was coming back to pick her up, to take her somewhere that was important.
Clara had been shocked, of course. But she had rallied, dragging her friend upstairs, demanding that she change into one of her own gowns, once more. “For you are a true lady, Abigail,” she said proudly, tears in her eyes. “You are not pretending any longer. I am so very happy for you, my dear friend.”
And now she was in his carriage, traveling through the streets of London. Dressed as a lady, once again. His eyes had widened in admiration, when he had seen her. But he had not spoken much, merely saying that it would not take long to get where they were going.
Her heart thudded harder as she gazed out at the fashionable townhouses they passed by, patting the earring in her pocket. She felt with every turn, that she was leaving behind the maid, who had toiled so hard all her life. Was it possible that this was true, and not a dream, any longer?
He took her arm as they walked up the steps of the townhouse in a genteel district. “Do not be afraid, Abigail,” he whispered to her. “For all will be well. I promise you that.”
She noticed the house was not as grand as the Nightingale’s. There were tell-tale signs of neglect. The foyer he led her into was sparsely furnished as well. But the room they entered was bright, and warm, with a flickering fire in the grate.
An old lady stood up as they entered. She had soft snow white hair and bright blue eyes, in a heavily lined face. But her figure was straight, and proud; there was no sign of hunching, and she did not lean on a walking stick. She gazed at them impassively, not speaking.
The duke cleared his throat. “Lady De Vere,” he said slowly. “This is the young lady, who I told you about.”
Abigail gasped, staring up at him, so shocked that her knees felt quite weak. Lady De Vere? Was this woman related to her, in some way?
The old lady nodded. “Please, sit down, and let us talk.” Her eyes were wary. “There is much that should be discussed, if what you claim is true, young lady.”
They all sat down, in strained silence. Tea was served, and it was five minutes before Lady De Vere put down her teacup, staring hard at Abigail.
“His Grace tells me that you think you are my granddaughter,” she said, without preamble. “I must say, the claim has shocked me. I have not seen my daughter, her husband, or my young granddaughter since the day we left Cornwall, many years ago. I expected that I would never see them again, in this life.”
Abigail’s eyes filled with tears as she gazed at the old lady. Her grandmother. It did not seem real, at all.
“So,” continued the lady, somewhat imperiously. “What makes you believe that you are truly my granddaughter?”
Abigail glanced at the duke. He nodded, encouragingly.
She took a deep breath. “I was orphaned, my lady, many years ago,” she said slowly. “In the year 1796. I awoke in an orphanage, in the St. Jude district of London, badly injured. They believed that I was around four years of age, at the time.”
The old woman nodded but did not speak.
“I had no memory of how I was injured or of my life before I arrived there,” she said slowly. “I could remember no family, or what had happened. Nothing, except my name.” Her voice broke, just a little. “I was sure that my name was Abigail. They tended my injuries, and once I was fully healed, I became a maid, and have been one ever since.”
“Abigail is a common enough name,” said Lady De Vere. “It does not prove anything…”
Abigail nodded. “Of course, it does not. But I also had an earring, found in the pocket of my cloak that day, my lady. I have kept it safe, over the years, not knowing its significance, or how it came to be there.” She hesitated. “It seemed the only link with my past, and the family that I had never known. The family I thought had abandoned me.”
Lady De Vere nodded. “The Duke of Wycliff told me that you somehow remembered the house in Cornwall, when you went there under false pretences, impersonating your lady.” Her gaze hardened. “I must admit, I was not predisposed to think well of you, after that. That perhaps you are a confidence artist, seeking to recover a family fortune off the memory of my dead child and her beloved only daughter…”
“I am no confidence artist,” said Abigail, her eyes flashing. “My reasons for going to Cornwall, and impersonating my lady, were for her benefit alone, not mine. I am not by nature a deceitful person, and have no desire to seek fortune, or anything, that is not mine.”
The old lady didn’t look convinced. She raised her eyebrows, glancing at the duke. “Prove it to me, then. His Grace claims you are sincere. Tell me the story, of how you think you discovered your true identity.”
Abigail took a deep breath. “I had a sense that I remembered the house, from the very start,” she said slowly. “Strong impressions, but nothing definite. But it was enough to rattle me, and ask the maid who attended me what the history of the house was. She led me to a trunk in the attic, which was filled with mementos of the family who had once possessed it.” She took another deep breath. “A painting, of a young family. I recognised them, in some way. And I also discovered the other earring that matched my own, among the items.”
“Show it to me,” commanded Lady De Vere. “This earring, that you claim links you, in some way, to my family.”
With shaking hands, Abigail took the earring out of her pocket. Her precious lucky charm. It shone brightly in her hand. Without a word, she passed it to the lady, who frowned, turning it over in her hand.
The duke reached into his own pocket, taking out the other earring, and passing it to Lady De Vere. “This is the earring discovered in the trunk, in my attic,” he said slowly.
The lady shuddered, as she kept staring at the two earrings in her hands. Abigail saw that her eyes glimmered with tears when she looked up again.
“Go on,” she said, in an impassive voice. “Tell me more about your discovery of that lost family.”
“The maid could not tell me anything more about the De Vere family,” she said. “But she knew someone who could. An old man, who lived nearby, had once been gardener at the estate when they lived there. I went to see him.” She shuddered. “He told me everything – about how the old Duke of Wycliff forced the family off the property to cover a debt, after his deman
d to marry the young lady of the family was met with refusal, many years prior. It unlocked my memory, at long last…” She broke off on a sob.
“What do you remember?” asked the old lady, in a small voice.
“I remember being in a carriage,” she said, tears running down her face. “I was frightened, and it was dark. My mother was holding me. A man who was in the carriage with us, who I did not know, produced a gun, threatening us.” Her voice faded to a whisper. “My mother put something in my pocket – the earring, as it turned out – and threw me from the carriage… she was trying to save my life…”
The old lady was as pale as marble. “She threw you out of a moving carriage, after being threatened?”
Abigail nodded. “I remember it all, now. I do not know why I ever forgot.” Her voice was thick with tears. “I am the daughter of that woman. Her name was Lady Margaret, and she was my mother.”
Lady De Vere took a deep breath. “Show me your right arm. Expose it completely, so I can view it.”
Abigail’s eyes widened. Confused, she hitched up the sleeve of her gown, so that the pale skin of her arm was exposed for all to see.
The old lady stood up slowly, coming toward her. Her eyes raked over Abigail’s arm, as if searching for something.
“It is true,” she breathed, at long last. “You have the mark, upon your arm. The exact same mark that my granddaughter Abigail had. I will remember it forever.” One finger traced the dark brown, heart-shaped birthmark. “You are truly her. I recognized my daughter’s earrings instantly, but this… this is not something that can be bought, or found. This is absolute proof that you are who you claim to be.”
The old lady took Abigail’s hands, raising her up slowly from her seat, so that they were staring at each other. Abigail’s heart lurched, as the tears kept streaming silently down her face.
“My darling girl,” sobbed the old lady, placing a hand upon her face, tenderly. She smiled wanly. “I knew it was you, from the second you walked into this room. You are the vision of my daughter Margaret. But I had to make sure. I could not endure the disappointment, you see.” She paused. “I thought I would never gaze upon your sweet face, ever again. You have come to me, at long last.”
Abigail was still weeping as they left. The duke bundled her up in the carriage, taking her hand gently in his own.
“I know how hard this must be for you,” he whispered. “Finding your grandmother, after all these years.” He paused, his eyes trailing over her face. “I hope that my surprise is all that you might have anticipated.”
She nodded tearfully. “I can never thank you enough,” she whispered. “You have given me everything that I ever wanted.” She paused. “To have a grandmother, when I have never had any family, is riches beyond belief.”
He nodded, looking pleased. “It took me a while to trace her,” he said slowly. “Initially, I thought that she must have died. But she is alive and well… she is a formidable lady, is she not?”
Abigail smiled through her tears. “She is wonderful. I could not hope for anything more.” Her voice turned wistful. “Of course, I wish that my parents were still alive, and that I could have reconciled with them. But we cannot have everything that we want in this life, after all. It is enough. It is more than enough.”
He smiled sadly. “No, we cannot have everything that we want in this life, Abigail. I have learned that the hard way as well, when my wife and child died.” He looked pensive. “I believed that I would never recover from the loss. For many years, I did not wish to recover from it. I wanted to wallow in my grief, never join the world again.”
She gazed at him sadly. “No one could blame you for that…”
He sighed deeply. “No, it was natural that I grieve, but Helena would not have wished for me to lose my life in the process,” he said slowly. “It was you who changed everything for me, Abigail. It was you coming into my life that finally healed me, making me want to live again.”
She smiled, her heart overflowing with love for him. It was so full, that she could barely contain it.
So much had happened in the space of one day. This morning, she had gotten up believing that she would be a maid forever; that her hopes and dreams were madness. And now he had sought her out, and given her a grandmother, as well as his heart.
He got down on one knee in the carriage, gripping her hands tighter. “I am sorry for all that has happened to you,” he said quietly. “I am sorry, more than I can say, for the fact that my own grandfather caused it. Nothing can make up for the wrongs of the past, but I hope that bringing you here today, and you meeting your grandmother, is some comfort.”
“It is,” she whispered, her eyes shining. “You could not have done more. You believed me, despite everything. Despite the fact that I deceived you, claiming to be Clara. And you have given me the greatest gift that I could ever ask for.” Her voice shook with emotion. “You have given me my family, and my true identity.”
“I want to give you the world,” he said, his eyes ardent as he gazed at her. “I want to give you everything that your heart desires. For I love you, Abigail. I love you, so very much, and I want to make you my wife, if you will let me.”
She gasped. “Oh, yes! For I love you, so very much as well…” She sobbed. “I had hoped and prayed that this day would come, but never believed that it would.” She gazed at him. “You truly wish for me to be your wife?”
“I do,” he whispered, reaching out and stroking her face gently. “More than life itself. You have made me the happiest man in the world, my love.” He hesitated. “There is something else I need to ask you.”
“What?” she asked, her heart overflowing.
“We can sell the house by the sea,” he said slowly, “if owning it causes you pain. I would understand completely, after what was done to your family. The painful memories that it holds…”
Abigail pondered this. It was true, what he said – there were painful memories there. Those memories haunted its hallways and lurked in the corners of the rooms. Those memories permeated the very air of the house with sorrow.
But there were happy memories there, as well. And it was an integral part of her past. She almost felt like it had come full circle. Was it also a part of her future?
“No, I do not wish to sell it,” she said slowly. “I wish for us to keep it, and live there, as you do now. It is a special place, after all; my very first home, where I once lived in happiness with my family.” She paused. “I would make one request, though.”
“What is it?” he asked, staring at her warmly.
She took a deep breath. “Might we change its name, from Dudley House back to its original name?” She held her breath, looking at him. “De Vere Lodge. In honour of my family.”
He laughed easily. “Of course we may, Abigail. It shall be known as De Vere Lodge, from this day forward. I will even make a sign, declaring it to the world.” His eyes shone as he gazed at her. “I know that it is early days in your new relationship with your grandmother, but we can even invite her to live with us there, if she desires it. So that you can truly have your family back again, in some small way, in your family home.”
Abigail stared at him in amazement. He was giving her everything that she had ever desired in life. More than she had ever dreamed to expect. This man, who she loved so passionately. This man, who claimed that he wanted to give her the world.
“Thank you,” she whispered, as fresh tears flowed down her face. “Thank you, for everything…”
“My love,” he whispered, gathering her up in his arms. “My true love…”
He hesitated, for a moment, before claiming her lips for the very first time. Abigail’s heart raced at the sweetness of it. The rightness of it. She was exactly where she wanted to be. She was exactly where she should be. In his arms, kissing him. Her duke, dear James, who was about to become her husband.
The carriage took off, at long last, through the streets of London. But Abigail did not notice them at all. Sh
e was sitting next to her fiancé, as he held her hands, whispering words of endearment to her. Telling her over and over how much he loved her. How he was going to cherish her for the rest of her days.
They passed by St. Jude’s, but she did not even glance at it. It was part of her past, now. She had started out life as a lady, then become a maid. Now she was about to become a lady, once again. It had all seemed impossible, but now, it was true.
Yes, life had come full circle. And she knew, in her deepest heart, with this man by her side, that the future was a very bright thing, indeed. It shone before her, brighter than the jewels in her lucky charm earring, as the carriage turned left, rambling along the streets, taking her to the place that she had always wanted to be.
Chapter Thirteen
His laughter made her skin prickle and her breath catch. The excitement of his warm brown eyes upon her made her pulse crash in her ears. The swirl of music felt so far away, and if there were other people around, she could not see them for the beauty of the man that embraced her.
She could feel the pressure of his hands on her waist even through the gown she wore. The warmth of his touch was searing and left her tingling wherever his hands brushed her. Her lips parted as she sought to say words, but none came.
Lord Honeyfield smiled down at her as they danced. There were candles lighting the ballroom, Abigail could feel the warmth from them. Everything was warm; her skin was moist with the heat of it all. She wanted nothing more than to shed these hot confining garments, but that was improper.
She had longed to be in the Duke’s arms for so long, always seeing him from afar, but never speaking to him. How many times had she seen him at social events and never came within the distance of a room from him? Her breath finally escaped her lips, the words tumbling free, and all she could say was, “I did not think you knew me.”
The Duke leaned slightly towards her, his tall, muscular frame bent so that she, at her dainty height, could hear his whispered words. “I have always known you.”
