by Bryn Donovan
He smelled like secrets, ones that she would do anything to discover. Abigail leaned into him with helpless abandon. She was sure he would kiss her, but her eyes blinked open a moment later.
Abigail groaned at the sense of loss. The knocking on her door that had caused her to awaken ceased as Marie Ann swept into the room. “Are you not awake? Your mother and father are expecting you for breakfast. They have an announcement and insist that you be on time.”
Marie Ann’s lips pressed into a line as she eyed Abigail. For a moment, Abigail pondered pretending that she was dead, but the chances of it working were slim. With a sigh, she sat up. “I am awake. I am awake.”
She stretched as if she could will the sleep out of her. Marie Ann tutted as she went over to where Abigail’s clothes had been laid out the night before. “Go refresh yourself.”
Abigail slipped out of bed and thumped over to her wash bowl with sleep still making her legs feel useless. The first splash of cool water on her face made her feel miles better. “Do you know what this announcement is, Marie Ann?”
Marie Ann lifted her shoulders as if she were not that concerned with the whys of anything her master and mistress did. “You know that I don’t, Miss.”
Abigail sighed and walked over to where Marie Ann was waiting. The young maid’s black dress was covered by a white apron that Abigail knew often contained sweets that Marie Ann’s grandmother made. Marie Ann had been with Abigail since she was old enough to have a Lady’s Maid. The two had practically grown up together making Marie Ann one of Abigail’s closest friends.
Marie Ann put her hands on her hips as she waited for Abigail to settle and stop her fidgeting. The young woman’s blonde hair was lovelier to Abigail than her own auburn strands. It was a shame really that Marie Ann had to cover those locks with the frilled hat that was part of her uniform here at the estate.
Abigail relinquished herself to Marie Ann’s administrations, and they made quick work of getting her dressed. Marie Ann’s nimble fingers laced, tied, and tamed Abigail’s figure into the confines of the stay. Abigail’s ample curves were not always the easiest to control, and her hair was a further battle, but Marie Ann always insisted that Abigail’s auburn strands were lovely beyond compare.
When Marie Ann was done with her work, she stepped back to admire what she had accomplished. “Very good.” Marie Ann gave Abigail a grin. “Do try to not be late, Adie.”
Abigail grinned back at the childhood nickname. “I promise that I shall be down shortly. I just need to find my manners. I believe I left them around here somewhere.”
Marie Ann bit down on a laugh as she left Abigail to collect her thoughts. With the maid gone, the room took on a stillness that settled over Abigail. Her dream fluttered around the edges of her mind.
Abigail admired herself in the mirror that hung over her vanity. She pushed her shoulders back and straightened her spine. In mimicry of her mother’s voice, Abigail intoned, “Do not bend your back like a farmer at his crop. You are the daughter of the Baron Grey of Waterston.”
She let her shoulders slump. She stuck her tongue out at her reflection to let it know that Lady Abigail Haddington did not take orders from anyone, including herself. Running a cautious hand over her auburn strands, Abigail sighed as the waves of her hair escaped from the pins that Marie Ann had bravely placed to contain its girth.
Abigail let the strands have their freedom. She rather admired their tenacity. Sighing, she rose as there was no need to keep putting off the torture that lay ahead.
Down in the dining hall, her family waited for her. They were all there, timely and no doubt judging Abigail for keeping them waiting. Abigail gave her mother and father a dip of her head as she took a seat next to her sister.
Although Abigail and Serena were identical twins, the two of them could not have been more different. Their complexions, colouring, and height were blatant ruses because, at their cores, Abigail knew they were fire and water. Serena gave Abigail a small smile, a subtle crook to her mouth that made her appear so demure.
Serena was the good daughter. She always studied her lessons well and remembered to hold herself just so. There was ever a smile of agreement on Serena’s lips that Abigail could not understand.
Abigail believed in having fun, oftentimes playing pranks on her refined sister. Serena could be obedient all she wanted while Abigail chose to live. It always seemed that Serena was just waiting for permission to breathe.
Their father the Baron Grey of Waterston, himself an imposing figure of fiery temperament, eyed his daughters over his morning cup of tea. Abigail suspected her father added a healthy dollop of his favourite liquor to the beverage, but she never actually saw him do so. The Baron’s voice boomed out, “My darling daughters, your mother and I have a fortuitous announcement!”
Despite herself, Abigail found even she leaned forward slightly with excitement. What was this that their parents had planned for them? Was it finally that trip to her mother’s ancestral home that Abigail had asked about?
The Baron looked over at his wife with a warmth that Abigail took for granted. Did not all parents look at each other that way? Lady Grey smiled back at her husband before she motioned with her hand for him to proceed.
Baron Grey clapped his bear-sized hands together as he looked upon his daughters. “As you both know, you are of marrying age now. Serena being the oldest—”
“By a fraction of a moment,” Abigail interrupted as she thumped her palm against the table.
Lady Grey’s chest heaved with a sigh as she spoke to Abigail. “That impetuousness of yours is exactly why we chose to first get a good match for Serena.”
Abigail wanted to protest, but she held her tongue. The look on her mother’s face told her exactly what would happen if she did not mind her manners. Serena for her part sat perfectly still as if she were again holding her breath waiting for permission to exhale.
Baron Grey cleared his throat as he adjusted his waistcoat. “As I was about to say, Serena, your mother and I think we have secured the perfect match for you in Lord Honeyfield, the Duke of Richmond.”
Abigail opened her mouth and then clapped it shut again, like a fish struggling to gulp in water. She wanted to scream. In her mind, she threw her plate on the floor. In reality, she sat numbly.
Serena for her part said little that Abigail could hear. She only saw her sister’s head move up and down in acceptance of the words their father had spoken. Why was Serena not rejoicing? Did she not know the Duke was the most handsome man in London, nay, the whole of England?
Her father and mother looked at Abigail expectantly. She turned to her sister. It was only when she looked upon her sister that guilt welled up in Abigail. Should she not be happy for her sister?
“That is wonderful for you, Serena. I will do all I can to help with the preparations.” The words were hard to say, but Abigail felt better for having said them.
Serena gave her another small smile. “Thank you, Adie. I should adore your assistance.”
Abigail fell silent as Serena and their mother discussed the arranged marriage. Looking down at the plate of fruit before her, her mind slipped back to the last time she had seen the Duke. She and Serena had been attending a ball at the estate of a Lord whose name Abigail could scarcely pronounce.
She remembered it vividly because she had seen the Duke from only a few feet away. He had been so handsome. Naively she had set her heart on him.
Lady Talbert, the daughter of the Earl of Dawson, had been with him that night. Abigail could still feel the fire in her at the way Lady Talbert had leaned into the Duke. She ran her hands over his arm in a most obscene way, her lips parted and beckoning.
It was with great satisfaction that Abigail had watched the Duke rebuke her advances. He was hers, and how dare Lady Talbert try something like that on her Duke? His words to the woman had come even to Abigail, as she tried to appear interested in the hem of her dress. “Lady Talbert, I feel I should tell you that I am n
ot, nor will I ever be, interested in marriage between us. There is no true match here.”
If the man’s words had been cold, the way he turned from Lady Talbert had been a savage spurn. Abigail would have been set against such a brute of a man if not for what she had overheard between the Duke and his friend after the incident with Lady Talbert that same night.
She had eased close listening while sipping a drink between dances. “I am not happy with having to do that, James, but I do feel it is necessary. Honesty is above reproach.” The Duke’s voice was deep and as smooth as the honey that his name carried.
The James he spoke with was James Balfour, Earl of Mornington. Abigail had been briefly introduced to the man and had found him a lovely person. Lord Balfour hooked his thumbs into his coat. “It is not the honesty that is in question, Cousin. It is the force with which the honesty was given.”
“Truth, I do pray forgiveness that I might have been too strong-handed with it, but I prefer that than to leave a shred of uncertainty on the matter.” The Duke drew in a deep breath as if weighing out his own guilt.
The truth is often a flimsy thing. Abigail later heard that Lady Talbert had been so heartbroken that she had withdrawn from the next two balls for the ache of it. Try as she might, she could muster little sympathy for the woman whom she viewed as a rival to her.
Yet here she was now. Her very sister was not only her rival but the victor to the Duke’s affections. Abigail knew why, of course, that she had ended up in this position. Serena may look like her, but Serena was a siren of impeccable bearing whereas Abigail would run about in a smock if her mother would permit it.
All those lessons that Abigail had jilted and left unremembered had, as her mother and tutors often said they would, come back to haunt her. She did not know the right way to curtsey if the man were a lesser Earl or a cousin to the King himself. Serena did, though. Serena knew how to hold herself, how to speak, and Abigail was just a feral thing in comparison.
James appeared at his desk as if he were a spirit come to haunt Colin. “Mercy, James, must you creep up on me!”
“Cry not, Cousin, I knocked, but you must have been so absorbed in your papers that you did not hear me.” James dropped down into one of the leather chairs in front of Colin’s desk. A smile played over his cousin’s face.
Colin did not really need to hear the words to know what James was saying. “Go on then and tell me what a fool I am.”
“A fool? No. I think you no great fool, which is precisely why I came as soon as I heard the news. I pray that you have not gone mad.” James arched an eyebrow waiting for Colin to defend himself.
Colin put down his pencil and eyed his cousin with firm tolerance. “My brain is quite healthy. I merely tire of the dance of it all.”
“My cousin, who lives for romance, just uttered the words that he was tired? I do not believe it.” James leaned forward as if he were eager and whispered, “Was it your mother?”
James’s assumption was not that far off, and indeed his parents had been in his ear as of late. The duchy needed heirs, and in the end, arranged marriages were safe and secure. “I cannot bring myself to repeat all the things my parents have reiterated to me continuously, for I assume your own have done the same. Marriage is a means to an end, James.”
“If you believed that, then you would have taken Lady Talbert in wedded bliss,” James reminded him.
Colin blew out a puff of air as if it would push the name of the lady away from him. “I want a wife, not a mistress. She behaves as if she is a concubine and not a noblewoman.”
James’s face screwed up as he tried to hold back his laughter. He bit down on it until he became red in the face. Colin chuckled just looking at his cousin, which finally broke the dam and left James guffawing while slapping his hand on the leather chair arm.
“What is done is done, James.” Colin was at peace with his decision for the most part. He had seen Serena Haddington, and the woman was a fine beauty. She handled herself with the grace of a Queen. Even though they had only been introduced in the briefest way formally, he had enough knowledge of her not to frown upon his mother’s gentle suggestion of marriage.
James made a noise in his throat as if he was choking. “I hope that you do not regret your decision then.”
“Speaking of decisions, what of your fate, Cousin?” Colin was happy to turn the conversation away from his impending marriage lest his reservations come to the surface.
James grimaced at his words, his hands running through his untamed locks. James’s hair always seemed to have a mind of its own, which suited the personality of its owner very well. “I should like not to think of marriage at all for it means I shall not achieve my goals of seeing the world first. You know that it will be impossible for me to go off trotting once children and all that come about.”
“Children do not happen at the altar, James,” Colin reminded his cousin with a grin. “Perhaps you should aim for a lady who also holds your fascinations.”
James’s eyes rolled around in his head so that Colin thought he might be about to fall on the floor and speak tongues. “All the young ladies at Season talk about are children and family.”
“Well, that is what most of them would want. It is not their fault if they are taught they should want that from the upstart.” Colin frowned at his own words. “I just want a wife that loves me, or tries to. One that is full of life and laughter. My greatest fear is that Serena will be none of those things.”
Sympathy blossomed on James’s face. “I think it is normal for such reservations to abound at this time. Still, it is like an epic poem, is it not? You have only seen the lady from afar.”
“If you think bringing Lord Byron into this will make me calmer, then you are wrong.” Colin tugged at the cravat that suddenly felt like it was choking him.
James broke into a smile. “Glad to see you are not as complacent about all this marriage business as you seem. That shows your brain is right side up in your skull.”
Colin heaved a great sigh. There was no use in trying to put on a façade for James. His cousin would see through it eventually, and it was tiring enough having to do so for everyone else.
“Haddington, did you say?” James’s brow furrowed. “I was introduced, albeit briefly, to a Lady Abigail Haddington.”
Colin chuckled. “That would be her sister, I assume. She supposedly has a twin.”
“Oh dear,” James guffawed. “I do hope you do not get them mixed up, dear Cousin.”
He regarded his cousin with a glare. “Why do I bother telling you things?”
“Probably because I am the only one who puts up with your nonsense,” James informed him. “Shall we have a drink while we discuss these dire affairs?”
Colin picked up the paper that he had been working on. “Perhaps water would better suit you.”
James spluttered, “You are a vile knave to say such a thing to me.” He grinned and got up to attend to the drinks himself. “So, when shall you and the lucky lady be wed?”
He could hear the glasses clink as James shuffled them over to his desk. James’s hand holding a glass of brandy appeared in front of his face. Colin took the tumbler of brandy with a sigh. “A month and a week was what was settled upon. Apparently, ladies have to prepare much more arduously for the wedding than we men.”
“They have those gowns to sew,” James suggested. He swirled his glass of brandy as he stood to one side of Colin’s desk.
Colin eyed his cousin. “How is your mother by the way?”
“She is driving the staff crazy.” James smirked. “I dare say that she has run Father out of the house.”
Colin snorted with amusement. “Really now? Surely she is not so bad. What did the doctor say?”
“Oh, she just did her ankle a bit of a twist. I wager that she will milk that cow for all it is worth, though.” James nodded his head slowly, his eyes narrowing as if he were giving it deep thought.
James pointed his finger at Colin
as if he were about to accuse him of some great wrong. “So, when do I get to meet this lass of yours formally?”
“After the wedding,” Colin replied with only a bit of humour. “I have to go see about the wedding licence tomorrow. Will you be free to meet me at the tavern for a meal?”
The promise of a drink at the tavern perked up James’s ears, despite that the man was already sipping a brandy. “I have not yet passed up a pint and a bit of roast, and I do not wish to start now.” James’s head tipped forward, and he raised his glass as if blessing Colin with a toast.
“Oh, sit down, before you spill the brandy like you did once before. The maids had a wretched time cleaning it.” Colin waved his cousin over to his original seat, which the man returned to with a grin on his face.
James assured Colin, “I never meant to make the lasses work so hard. That tumbler was wet, and it slipped from my fingers.”
“I think it was more that your fingers were thick and dumb with drink,” Colin countered.
James paused as if considering the words, his eyes examining the glass he now held as if it was the previous cup of offence. “That could be true as well. Let us just leave it to the realm of the mysterious and not delve into it.”
Colin picked up his pencil again with a smile. James had always loved his drink, but the man was a level-headed fellow most of the time. They had grown up together as cousins but had truly become fast allies at boarding school. James was a fine sort and gave good advice unless it was in the matter of love.
“Are you writing that blowhard Reginald?” James had a strong dislike for Lord Reginald Tomlin, Marquis of Stoneford, which stemmed mostly from a boyhood rivalry between the two.
Colin nodded his head as he wrote. “One and the same. Really, James, he has matured and you should too.”
“Maturing and forgetting that the blighter tried to bludgeon my head in is a completely different thing, Cousin,” James scoffed.
