by Valerie King
“As I told you, I needed to bring our contest to an end, so I pretended to trip over the chair. I daresay, had you not cried out, I could have avoided being slashed. But all’s well that ends well.”
She met his gaze. “I find myself astonished. You truly had it in your power to stop the duel?”
“Well, it was not a duel precisely,” he said.
“Nor was it a friendly fencing match,” she protested.
He could only chuckle.
She lifted the pad and checked the wound, which she discovered was no longer bleeding. She breathed a sigh of relief. The cut was nearly three inches long and would require a few stitches but not so deep as to be in the least dangerous. Her gaze naturally drifted over his chest. She might have blushed, but her attention was caught. “Are these the scars from your duel with Chandos so many years ago?”
At that, Treyford lifted himself to a sitting position. “Yes.” He caught the pad as it began to slide down his abdomen and pressed it once more against the wound.
Abigail leaned back and stared at him. Something was working itself to the forefront of her mind. The duel came sharply into focus. She felt the horror of it at that moment as though she had been there. If he had nearly died, surely there would have been several people who had known of his sufferings.
Treyford said something, but she was not listening. She was thinking of Lady Waldron. Her gaze slid over the scars once more. She even touched them. This was what divided Treyford from Three Rivers Cross society more than anything, the belief that he had been intent on murdering Lord Chandos and had himself escaped the duel without injury. Lady Waldron must have known the severity of his wounds, which begged the question why Lady Waldron would have perpetuated such a terrible lie, if not to punish the man she loved for not loving her?
Once more, she had the strongest impression it was time she paid a call on Lady Waldron. Perhaps when Sarah’s ball was over.
“Would you do me a favor?” he asked, disrupting her train of thought. “There is a kerchief in the pocket of my coat. Would you retrieve it for me? I am still sweating too fiercely to be comfortable.”
Abigail removed the kerchief, but instead of handing it to him, she began wiping his brow.
He let her tend to him. “Thank you,” he murmured. “You have a very gentle touch.”
Then he caught her arm and drew her toward him until his lips had captured hers.
“Abigail,” he whispered against her lips. “I should not have let him provoke me, but I vow I was overcome when he waltzed with you, holding you so tightly. Why ever did you offer to dance with him? He took advantage of you because of it.”
“And well I know it, but I was thinking only of Mr. Ditchling. I saw Geoffrey work his charms on Sarah and I knew how it must have affected him. I couldn’t let it continue.”
Treyford sighed. “I believe my friend is old enough to manage his own affairs.”
“On the other hand,” she said with a smile, “here we are, because of your silly sword fight, allowed to be alone for a time.”
“Yes, alone,” he murmured in response. He kissed her again, his lips searching hers gently his tongue seeking entrance, which she happily obliged.
She lost herself for a long, long while in the softness of his kiss. The fears she felt in having witnessed the swift, violent swordfight still trembled through her veins. She touched the side of his face with her fingertips, then the strong line of his jaw, even his neck. The knowledge that she might have lost him suddenly struck her. A variety of feelings surged through her so powerfully, she drew back horrified.
“You might have been killed.”
“Not a chance,” he responded, smiling crookedly. “Your Mr. Ferrers is far too arrogant to win a true fencing match.”
Abigail lifted an arched brow. “So you say. From my vantage, however, he seemed perfectly capable of parrying your thrusts.”
“Just as you are,” he said appreciatively.
Abigail’s gaze locked with his. How very much she was drawn to this man, only was his heart free or did he still love Lady Chandos ‘to the point of madness’?
* * * * * * * * *
Abigail spent the next several days watching Oak Hill turned out-of-doors in preparation for Sarah’s come-out ball. There was not a nook of the old, sprawling manor that was not dusted and cleaned, every bit of furniture polished with beeswax, every floor scrubbed soundly, and every drapery transported outside, hung on lines, and pounded until the dust flew away with fear.
The result was that the house gained an airy feeling, as though weighty layers of grime had been washed away.
Cook had hired two scullery maids to assist her in preparing the dinner before the ball, to which a score of guests had been invited, as well as a light supper that would be served near midnight.
Abigail did not see Treyford during these hectic days. Along with Mr. Ditchling, he had wisely absented himself from Oak Hill so that the ladies might prepare properly for this most important occasion in Sarah’s life.
Abigail found herself grateful for this natural separation from Treyford. The sword fight had served to reveal two things to her that required a great deal of reflection. First, the mere fact that Treyford might not have survived his match with Geoffrey had illuminated the truth of her sentiments where he was concerned. From that moment, she had been in a state of agitation, particularly since she had witnessed the sword slicing through his shirt. How precious he had come to be to her at that moment, more than she would have ever thought possible. All her former feelings of interest and affection for him had coalesced, shaping themselves into a profound belief that she not only had already tumbled in love with Treyford, but that the quality of this love was something she had never before experienced.
She could not explain it, not by half. She had been in love before, she was not mistaken on that score. But somewhere betwixt the time she had first met him at Oak Hill, in Lavant’s drawing room, and the moment she had placed the folded muslin of her shift over his wound, she had come to love him in a manner that was as profound as it was mysterious. She was not entirely certain, but she suspected she was beginning to love Treyford to the point of madness. Only, how had this happened?
There must be some reason she had so completely lost her heart to him, something not yet revealed to her, yet she could not comprehend what that might be.
The second aspect of Trey’s sword fight with Geoffrey that had distressed her was an intuitive belief that though Treyford was sincere in his kisses, in his professed interest in her, in his belief he was ‘half in love with her,’ he was not truly capable of returning her love in full. Somehow, she sensed that Lady Chandos still held sway in Treyford’s heart. Perhaps she always would.
Abigail had never before found herself in this position, for the gentlemen to whom she had previously been betrothed had loved her completely. Three of them had even proven the depths of their passion by following her all the way into Devonshire.
What, then, should she do? she wondered over and over. Part of her demanded that she be sensible, that she guard her heart where Treyford was concerned. However, she had but to think of him, and it was as though dawn broke over her soul. She felt warm and alive and awake to new feelings and sensations. How could she simply dismiss him from her life?
The night of the ball, Abigail fluffed Sarah’s gown one last time. “I vow you look like an angel,” she said, tears misting her eyes.
Sarah whirled happily in front of her looking glass. She was gowned in white satin overlaid with a mountain of tulle. Her brown hair was caught up atop her head in a riot of curls. White roses taken from her mother’s garden peeped from between the curls. A rope of pearls adorned her youthful neck, and white-beaded slippers completed her elegant toilette.
Sarah chuckled and turned toward her. “How odd to hear you tell me I look like an angel.”
Abigail moved toward her and took hold of her hands. “You have become an angel,” she said.
&n
bsp; Sarah’s expression grew quite serious. “How glad I am that you came to Oak Hill, Miss Chailey. You cannot know how very much you have changed everything, including me. You challenged my conduct when everyone else was either being wretchedly tolerant or vastly amused. Through it all, Mr. Ditchling never complained once.”
“He is a gentleman,” Abigail said.
Sarah smiled. “He is so very kind to me, and the more that I have ventured into your world—of books and learning, of giving myself to the improvement of my mind and of my abilities—the more Mr. Ditchling has been encouraged to profess his interest in me.”
“I had hoped it would be this way, though I must confess I feared that he would see the gulf between you as insuperable. How happy I am to have my fears proved unfounded.”
At that, tears brimmed in Sarah’s eyes, and she quickly embraced her. “I am so happy,” she whispered. “Thank you. Again, thank you a thousand times.”
“I am only happy to have been of service to you,” Abigail returned.
Once Sarah brushed away her tears, Abigail hooked her pupil’s arm and accompanied her to the drawing room.
Mr. Lavant, who was sipping a glass of sherry at the moment they crossed the threshold, nearly choked as he lifted his gaze to his daughter.
He drew in his breath. “What a beauty you have become, my dear. But are you, indeed, the little girl I once dandled upon my knee?”
“No, Papa. I am convinced she never existed.”
“As am I. Do but look at yourself, child. No father could be prouder of his offspring than I am in this moment.”
Sarah went to her father and lost herself in his arms for a long, tender embrace, a scene that brought even more tears to Abigail’s eyes. Releasing her, he continued praising her elegant appearance.
After a few minutes, Sarah laughed and pinched his cheek. “You have admired me enough, Papa, only tell me what you think of Miss Chailey. Is she not the loveliest creature ever born?”
Abigail had remained at a distance, enrapt by the tender scene. “What a nonsensical question to pose your father, Sarah, when you would put even Aphrodite to shame tonight.”
“Now who is speaking nonsense?” Sarah called back, laughing.
“I hear a carriage in the drive,” Mr. Lavant interjected. “The first of our guests.” He quickly crossed the chamber and peered out the window. “Treyford is arrived.”
Sarah’s expression fell slightly. “Papa, he said he would not be staying the entire evening, for my sake. I tried to persuade him that I should far prefer all my guests to leave before he should, but he would have none of it. I beg you will speak to him, to assure him he is welcome above all others in our home.”
Mr. Lavant returned to his daughter’s side. “Treyford must do what he feels is best in this situation. I have already attempted to convince him he should remain the entire evening, but he said he would not jeopardize your happiness tonight for the world.”
Abigail felt that a shadow had fallen over the come-out ball. Her earlier concerns that Treyford could not truly love her because of his former entanglement with Lady Chandos paled in comparison to his unhappy relationship with the genteel families of Three Rivers Cross. The viscount could not even attend the come-out ball of a dear friend without fearing he would ruin her evening by staying at the fete.
“There is something more,” Mr. Lavant said, directing this remark to Abigail.
She met his gaze, perplexed. “What is it, Mr. Lavant? You seem distressed.”
Lavant glanced from his daughter to Abigail and back again. Voices were heard in the hall as Stockleigh greeted Lord Treyford. Lavant shook his head. “Pay no heed to me. I daresay it is of little consequence after all.” He smiled and stroked his daughter’s cheek with his gloved hand. “Have a wonderful ball, my pet, and know that I am so very proud of you and I always shall be.”
“Thank you, Papa,” Sarah returned, tears once more leaping to her eyes. She was brushing them away as Treyford entered the grand chamber.
“Ah, here you are, Treyford,” Mr. Lavant said. “How did you leave your sister?”
“Very well. She sends her fondest wishes that you and your daughter will have a most excellent fete.” He moved into the chamber and immediately greeted Sarah with an embrace and a kiss on her cheek. “As for you, my dear, may you break a dozen hearts tonight.”
Sarah giggled. “You know very well I do not give a fig for such things, but thank you anyway. Now, tell me, is not Miss Chailey in excellent looks this evening?”
* * * * * * * * *
Lord Treyford turned at last to greet Sarah’s governess, the lady he had kissed a score of times since her arrival scarcely a month past, the beautiful woman he felt certain would very soon become his wife.
Ever since the sword fight, when she had placed the muslin of her shift over his wound, wiped the sweat from his brow, and kissed him despite the distressing nature of the situation, he had felt a profound connection to her. Whatever doubts he had been experiencing about his interest in her had melted away. She was the woman he wanted to marry, to bring into his home, to share his bed, to shower with every manner of extravagance, to carry his name, to bear his children, and with whom to grow happily into old age.
She was lovelier than ever. Her hair had been dressed with extra care and was caught up in a knot atop her head. Tiny pink flowers and narrow ribbons wended their way through her auburn curls. Her gown was of a patterned silk the precise shade of emeralds that emphasized the cream of her complexion. He thought her exquisite beyond words.
He was suddenly reminded of stopping her coach the first night of her arrival in Three Rivers Cross and how readily she had fallen into the arms of ‘the highwayman’. With the moon casting a glow over her face, she had seemed even then the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Now that same impression came back to him, yet more fully, since added to her beauty was his sure knowledge of her excellent character.
A powerful feeling surged once more in his chest, of a desire to possess all that beauty, refinement, and tenderness of spirit. Tonight, he would beg for her hand in marriage, and he would tell her the truth of his identity.
He greeted her by bowing over her hand and carrying her fingers to his lips. He met her gaze and was surprised to find a question in her brown eyes. He would have asked the meaning of it, but at that moment a dozen guests, just arrived, suddenly burst laughing and chattering into the nearby foyer. The ball had begun.
Fifteen
Later that evening, Abigail surveyed the ballroom and found a joy surging in her heart. Sarah stood at the edge, surrounded by a dozen friends and admirers, all wishing her well and exclaiming that once she was in London, she would have no end of suitors. Sarah, however, merely smiled at these compliments, for her hand was settled gently on Mr. Ditchling’s arm. She had just told Abigail that dear Henry had asked to call upon her father on the morrow.
“Is it settled between them?”
Abigail glanced at Treyford, who had appeared suddenly beside her.
“Yes. He is to speak with Mr. Lavant tomorrow. Have you been watching them as well?”
“A little.”
“Are you pleased?”
“With what you have accomplished in so short a time? I am pleased beyond words, besides being astonished. Sarah is all that a young lady ought to be.”
Abigail watched Mr. Ditchling gently guide her onto the floor as couples arranged themselves in anticipation of the waltz. “I have every confidence in her future now, but what you’re seeing is not so much my accomplishment but the fulfillment of the foundation Miss Fursden laid all those years ago. My part was merely to unearth it. Sarah has done the rest.”
He turned toward her slightly. “You will say this, when you were greeted upon your arrival with a snake between the covers of your bed, which in turn was located in an attic garret unfit for even the most worthless of servants?”
Abigail could only laugh, turning toward him as well. “Think more of my
abilities, then, if it pleases you. I shan’t object. Just do not expect me to agree with you.” She was struck by the sudden smile that reached to his eyes. Faith, but he was exceedingly handsome this evening, dressed as he was in Brummell blacks and whites. His neckcloth was tied to perfection and his moderate shirt points had not wilted in the least even though the ballroom in particular was quite warm from all the dancing.
Abigail felt her heart slip from its moorings yet again while in his presence. He had but to look at her, his green eyes lit with laughter, and she was lost. She recalled the concerns that had plagued her most especially in the past few days—that he was still separated from most of the genteel persons present and that she was not yet certain that his heart was truly free to love her. Even as these thoughts drifted through her mind, she seemed to forget them, as she usually did while looking into his eyes.
“Will you dance with me?” he asked.
She should say no, of course, for this was the waltz, an ‘excuse for hugging’, many called it. Instead, she responded, “I should desire nothing more.”
He did not immediately take her out onto the floor. “Are you certain?” he asked in a low voice. “What if the highwayman were to appear? Would you not prefer to waltz with him?”
“What an odd question.” At the same time, she was grateful he had posed it. Treyford knew that she had been kissed more than once by the outlaw. Perhaps he saw the bandit as a threat.
“Do you have an answer for me anyway?” he pressed her.
Abigail smiled. “There was a time when I desired nothing more than to be with him, to come to know him better, but somehow, especially in the past fortnight, you have quite overshadowed him, my lord. I would not repine if I never saw him again.”
“Never?” he queried, smiling crookedly.
“You have my answer,” she responded.
He smiled and offered his arm to her.
A few minutes later, he was whirling her magically around the ballroom floor. He danced with considerable skill, and she told him so.
“I wonder how your highwayman would have comported himself in such a setting.”
