by Rose Pearson
Walking into her bedchamber, she smiled in relief at the small tray set by her bed. There was something warm to drink and a few small cakes, which the cook must have sent up especially. The staff here were truly considerate, Deborah thought to herself, perching on the side of her bed and beginning to eat. Her stomach grumbled furiously and she realized she had not had anything to eat for dinner given that she had been with first Lord Abernathy and then Lady Markham.
A sudden rap to her door had her jumping in surprise.
“Who is it?” she asked, uncertainly, not rising from her bed. “I am just about to retire and –”
“Miss Harland, might you come to the door for a moment?”
Her hand froze, holding a cake halfway to her mouth. For whatever reason, Lord Abernathy had appeared at her door. Nausea swirled through her stomach as she rose. Had she gone too far with what she had said to him earlier? Was he about to dismiss her from his house?
Her hand trembled as she turned the key and pulled the door ajar. Lord Abernathy stood only a few steps away, his head hanging low.
“Lord Abernathy,” she said, quietly, not quite certain what to make of his presence. “Is – is something the matter?”
Slowly, he lifted his head and looked at her. “You are very plain speaking, Miss Harland.”
Heat flared in her cheeks. “Yes, Your Grace,” she agreed, honestly. “I am.” She swallowed her fear but felt it settle in her stomach instead. “If I have said something to upset you, or if I have spoken out of turn, then I can only apologize.”
Lord Abernathy did not move or speak for some moments. Deborah felt the tension mounting with her, the air seeming to grow thick between them.
“You said that Lady Cavendish would prove her affections in how she responded to me,” Lord Abernathy said, shattering the silence. His good eye rested on her with such force that Deborah felt herself struggle for breath. “Do you think, then, that she never truly cared for me?”
“I – I do not understand,” Deborah said, one hand pressed lightly against her heart. “I thought that you had told me you cared nothing for true affection, Your Grace. Indeed, you laughed at my belief that there should be something of substance between a lady and a gentleman.”
Lord Abernathy looked away. “Mayhap I have come to see, in these last weeks, that such a desire is not unwelcome,” he stated, his voice thin. “I have tried to convince myself that I cared deeply for Lady Cavendish and that she cared for me also. However, in seeing her today, in seeing her reaction to me, I realize that it cannot be so.”
Deborah hesitated, leaning against the doorframe. “I am sorry then, Your Grace. If you truly did care for the lady, then to be deprived of what could have been a wonderful match must truly be painful.”
Lord Abernathy shook his head, his breath shuddering out of him. “I saw her but I felt nothing,” he admitted, now looking at her again keenly. “But her reaction to my outward appearance, as you put it, proved to me that she is nothing but a shallow creature, eager only for title and fortune.”
“But you reacted so terribly,” Deborah said, frowning. “I thought –”
Lord Abernathy held up one hand. “Her running from me pained me terribly,” he replied, honestly. “Not because I believed her to be my one and only love and that, in turning from me, she quite broke my heart, but because I saw in her all of society and how they will speak of me, how they will look at me, should I return.” Sighing, he pressed one hand to his forehead as if his head was aching terribly. “I suppose I had dreams of returning to the society I had once loved. I had imagined that they would not reject me but Lady Cavendish has broken that dream entirely.”
Deborah swallowed hard but said nothing, seeing the wretchedness in his expression and wishing she knew what to say to encourage him.
“But you do not see me as a monster, I think.”
His words were soft and Deborah looked up at him in surprise. “I am astonished that you have to ask, Your Grace,” she said, seeing him close his eyes tightly as if her answer pained him in some way. “I have never seen you as a gargoyle or as the many other things you have called yourself. No, I have seen you as a man broken and injured by war. A man who needs to be encouraged to recover, who needs to shun the dark and dwell in the light.” Pausing, Deborah drew in a long breath, intending to speak honestly but finding this last thought difficult to articulate. “I see you as a man who has become, in his own way, very dear to me.” These last words were whispered and Deborah’s heart leapt into her throat as she saw the answering gleam in Lord Abernathy’s eyes.
“I should not have treated you so harshly,” he said, coming closer and reaching out to take her hand. “I am truly sorry, Deborah.”
Deborah allowed him to take her hand, her breath catching. Lord Abernathy said nothing for some minutes but simply held her hand tightly, his gaze resting on hers. There was something in his expression that she could not quite make out, something that she was not certain that she wished to know. It felt like the most intimate moment she had ever shared with Lord Abernathy, even though no words were being spoken. Their hands remained joined, their gazes locked.
“I….”
“I should go.”
The moment she tried to speak, Lord Abernathy let go of her hand and dropped his gaze. The intimacy turned to tension and she was filled with a sudden awkwardness, heat rippling up her spine and into her face. She lowered her head as Lord Abernathy stepped away, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. At that moment, she had not been the orphaned girl and he had not been the Duke of Abernathy. He had not been the injured hero and she had not been his nursemaid. They had been equals, brought together for one distinctive moment. Everything could have changed if only she had been able to speak her heart, if only he would have given her the opportunity to do so. Instead, he had cut her off and turned away, not allowing either himself or her to speak any further.
“Good evening, Your Grace,” she murmured, watching him walk away, his footsteps the only sound in the otherwise quiet hallway. Her eyes lingered on him for as long as they could, her heart dropping to the floor as silence began to surround her once more.
She could not even allow herself a single thought about what might be between herself and Lord Abernathy. Not any more. He had made it more than evident today that there was simply to be a respectful relationship between Duke and servant, for that was, in truth, what she was. Present in this house simply to serve the master and nothing more.
Chapter Twelve
For the next fortnight, Lord Abernathy retreated back into the room where he had once been shrouded in darkness. However, he did not have the drapes pulled nor the fire burning as he had done before which both Deborah and Lady Markham were glad of, but he did not appear to be in any way eager of their company. Deborah went about her duties as best she could, even though it was more than apparent that the Duke no longer needed her care. His hand, even without two of its fingers, was improving in both strength and flexibility and he could easily undertake the exercises required without her aid.
However, Deborah had not suggested that she leave the estate again to either Lord Abernathy or Lady Markham. It was apparent that Lady Markham, at the very least, required her presence within the house, for she had become fraught and anxious all over again about the state of her brother’s health. The truth was that Deborah was spending more time with Lady Markham than with Lord Abernathy, for Lord Abernathy was not at all desirous of her company as he had been before. Whenever she spent time with him, he remained almost silent, with very little by way of conversation. He smiled, yes, but it was not a particularly warm smile, nor was it welcoming towards her. Their shared looks were infrequent and more often than not, it was Lord Abernathy who looked away first.
“Deborah?”
Deborah looked up from the book she had been reading, realizing that she had kept the book open at the same page for a good few minutes but had not yet read a single word.
“Lady Markham,” s
he said, smiling at her. “I mean, Judith. Can I help you with something?”
Lady Markham began to walk up and down in front of the library hearth, her fingers twisting in front of her, her expression taut. “Lady Cavendish wishes to call upon us.”
Deborah’s eyes widened in surprise.
“I have her note here.” Lady Markham withdrew the parchment from her pocket and waved it at Deborah, her eyes darting back and forth. “She apologizes profusely for her initial reaction to your injuries and wishes desperately to see Lord Abernathy again.”
Swallowing her first, sharp retort at such a suggestion, Deborah drew in a long breath and attempted to think carefully about what Lady Markham had revealed. “That is….unusual,” Deborah murmured, carefully closing her book and setting it aside so that she might focus entirely on Lady Markham. “What does Lord Abernathy say about it all?”
Lady Markham let out a short, sharp exclamation. “I have not so much as mentioned it to him!” she said, throwing her hands up in frustration. “How can I, when he is in such despair?”
Deborah coupled her fingers together and looked at her friend. “It may not be wise to keep it from him either, Judith,” she said slowly, a slight frown forming between her brows. “If Lady Cavendish is genuine in her desire to apologize, then –”
“I will not allow that….that….dalcop shall not be allowed to get her claws into my brother again!” Lady Markham stated, angrily, turning to place her hands on her hips as she gazed out of the library window.
Surprised, Deborah lifted her eyebrows. It was unlike Lady Markham to throw insults at another, even if they were absent, which spoke only of the feelings Lady Cavendish had brought about within her. Not sure what to say, she remained silent, waiting for Lady Markham’s flaring temper to subside somewhat.
“I can hardly believe she wrote such a letter after what she did,” Lady Markham muttered, spinning around to face Deborah. “My brother has been lost in despair all over again because of what she did.”
“Regardless, I think you must share it with His Grace,” Deborah said, gently. “If you wish, I can speak to him about it.”
Lady Markham’s shoulders slumped, her head lowered and the fire left her eyes. “Would you truly be so willing, Deborah?”
“But of course,” Deborah said quickly, ignoring the burst of nervousness that filled her stomach. “I am here to aid and support both you and Lord Abernathy in any way I can.”
Lady Markham looked more than relieved. “I fear that I would make my feelings about Lady Cavendish more than evident if I were to show him this,” she said honestly. “You appear to be able to remove your own feelings and speak plainly on almost any subject.”
Deborah got to her feet and managed a smile, aware that she had not quite managed to hide her feelings about Lord Abernathy from Lady Markham. Thankfully, however, Lady Markham had not brought the matter up again and certainly had not pressed Deborah to discuss it again. “I shall be glad to do so again,” she said, taking the letter from Lady Markham and resisting the urge to open it and read what was written within. “I am due to go and see Lord Abernathy within the hour.”
Lady Markham managed a small smile. “I am sorry to have taken you from your reading, Deborah,” she said, looking a little guilty. “I came in here like a whirlwind, did I not?”
Deborah laughed, smiling at Lady Markham. “Think nothing of it, Judith. I am glad to be able to help you, truly.”
Lady Markham sighed and looked away. “Would that you would be able to force my brother to listen to you also,” she said, softly, her gaze drifting away as she turned back towards the window. “He still has not shown any desire to leave his rooms?”
Deborah shook her head. “No, he has not. There has been very little said or shared between us.”
Lady Markham rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. “And I had hoped that he had seen just how good his life could be. I thought he was slowly returning to be that very same gentleman, the man who loved to laugh and dance and ride.” She sighed heavily. “And now he is hiding away again.”
Something about what Lady Markham had said made Deborah’s ears prick up. “To ride?” she said, slowly, as Lady Markham looked at her over her shoulder. “Did you say that Lord Abernathy liked to ride?”
“Yes, of course,” Lady Markham replied, a look of puzzlement in her eyes as she turned back to face Deborah. “As almost every gentleman does, of course.”
“Of course,” Deborah murmured, thoughtfully. Perhaps it was time for her to be a little more determined, to show that same fire of spirit that had seen her throwing back the drapes and opening the windows the first time she had met Lord Abernathy. It would mean speaking firmly and attempting to force Lord Abernathy to do what he clearly did not wish to do but that did not seem to dampen her very strong resolve that had suddenly reared its head within her. “Might you excuse me, Judith?”
Lady Markham nodded, although the look of puzzlement was not gone from her expression. “But of course.”
“I thank you.” Deborah smiled brightly, her hope flaring to life. “If you look out of this window in around one hour, Judith, I hope that you will see Lord Abernathy riding out across his estate, as he has once done.” She did not wait to explain further, even though there came a gasp of astonishment from Lady Markham. “But I must go. Pray that I will be successful, Judith!”
“I shall,” Lady Markham gasped, one hand pressed against her heart as a small smile began to make its way across her face. “I shall do so now.”
“Lord Abernathy?”
Deborah did not wait for him to call for her to enter but instead strode into the room, leaving the door wide open. Her heart was beating frantically but she paid it no heed. This was all in order to bring Lord Abernathy a little more hope, to attempt to pull him from this shroud of misery and discontent. She would do whatever she had to in order to aid him.
“Miss Harland.” The Duke’s eyes flared in surprise as he looked at her. “You are…..you appear to be a little differently dressed today.”
“Indeed,” Deborah replied, with a quick smile. “It appears that, despite the loss of one of your eyes, Your Grace, your sight is just as good as ever.” Her slightly tart comment made Lord Abernathy smile, although the look of astonishment in his eyes did not fade. “Come then, we must not delay.”
“Delay?” Lord Abernathy did not rise from his seat, a frown between his brows as he continued to study her. “Whatever are you talking about, Miss Harland?”
She spun around, gesturing down to her riding habit. “Is it not obvious, Lord Abernathy?”
There was silence for a moment. Deborah lifted her eyes to Lord Abernathy’s face and saw that the smile was gone, his expression turning grave.
“Do not mock me, Miss Harland,” he said, a little gruffly. “You know that I cannot ride.”
She arched one eyebrow but was not put off from her task in the slightest, having expected as much from him. “You have not tried, as I recall.”
“I do not need to.” He held up his injured hand, his jaw set as though she were deliberately upsetting him. “I cannot hold the reins.”
Coming closer to him, Deborah crouched down in front of the Duke and looked up into his face. She saw that there was both frustration and upset there, as though he longed to ride but felt entirely unable to do so.
“Lord Abernathy, you have hidden in your rooms for long enough,” she said, adding a firmness to her voice that she prayed he would not shrink from. “I have seen you become a shadow of yourself. Your sister is upset for you, worrying that you will never become the gentleman you once were simply because one lady turned away from you.” Unable to prevent herself, she caught his bad hand in hers, holding it gently. “There are many others who have not turned away from you, who have not looked in the opposite direction when you walk into a room. You have allowed Lady Cavendish’s behavior to bite at your mind, to linger there and fill you with doubts and fears about your future. I canno
t allow you to continue on so in such a fashion.”
Lord Abernathy looked back at her steadily, his clouded eye a reminder of all he had endured. “I like my solitude.”
“No,” Deborah insisted. “You do not. You like to be surrounded by dark thoughts and lingering fears for in doing so, you feel safe. You are protected in this room, protected from the anxiety that would come if you were to go out into society and meet your acquaintances again.” She smiled up at him sadly, allowing her heart to speak. “But that is not a life, Lord Abernathy. That is not taking control of what your future could be, of looking at the blessings you have and being grateful for them. It is a prison, in a way. You are barring yourself within. It is only by setting Lady Cavendish’s behavior aside; it is only in facing your fears and your doubts that you will finally find some hope again. Your life could be filled with love and happiness and joy and delight – but those are treasures that must be sought, Lord Abernathy.” She ran her thumb over the back of his hand, her heart beating so quickly that she was certain he could hear it. “I do not see you as an injured soul, or one who must be avoided. Neither does your sister. Neither does Lord Rakes. There will be others who will behave as we do. It is only for you to find the courage to face those who will turn from you, to lift your chin and refuse to be cowed.”
Much to her surprise, Lord Abernathy let out a long, heavy sigh and lowered his head. His hand still lay in hers and he did not attempt to pull it away. Deborah was nonplussed, uncertain as to whether she had managed to speak to his heart or if she had only burdened him further.
“You have wisdom beyond your years, Miss Harland.”
The Duke’s voice was thin, the weight of his emotions breaking into his words. He looked up and, to her astonishment, pressed his good hand against her cheek. His thumb brushed down her skin, his fingers grazing her neck as he looked deeply into her eyes. Deborah could not breathe, her whole body frozen in place as she looked up at him. Wave after wave of unspoken emotion, of desire and hope and longing washed over her, making her hand tighten on his injured one. Could he see what she felt simply by looking into her face? Did he know that she had found herself longing for him, caught up with love and a deep, never-ending affection?
