A Matter of Grave Concern (28 page)

Abby had never known such opulence. The duke’s bedroom was a world apart from Wapping, from the college, even from all she had imagined. She might have felt strange, swallowed up in the unfamiliar, but he was there and that was all that mattered. The moment he touched her, she forgot the many reasons she shouldn’t be in his arms and let him carry her to greater and greater heights of pleasure.

He withdrew every time they made love. She would have preferred that not happen, knew it was a pointless exercise since she was already with child. But she couldn’t let on. She didn’t want him to change what he was going to do because she was carrying his child, didn’t want to feel as if she had tried to trap him or force him to take care of her—and she knew that was what everyone would believe.

“It’ll be dawn soon,” she murmured.

He had just pulled her to him as if they would sleep, the way they had slept after making love at Farmer’s Landing. “Don’t go,” he said. “Not yet.”

Abby leaned up on one elbow to look down at him. They had left a lamp burning all night, had both wanted to enjoy the sight of each other as well as the touch. “I can’t be driving off as your mother watches from the window, Lucien.”

He didn’t answer. With his hands, he pressed her to lie on him and ran his fingers lightly down the valley of her spine to her behind. “Come back tonight.”

“Lucien, no. We talked about this.”

“I have only ten months before I marry. I don’t want to throw them away.”

“If we spend those ten months in your bed, you will only be that much more entrenched.”

“I won’t give you up before I have to!”

“And now you sound like a spoiled child.”

He sighed. “How dare you speak to a duke that way,” he grumbled.

She would have taken offense, would have called him on his arrogance, but he had spoken with enough irony to let her know he wasn’t taking himself seriously.

“Even a duke doesn’t always get what he wants.”

He pulled her down to kiss him again. “One more night. I can have that, can’t I?”

“That’s what you said yesterday at the college,” she reminded him.

“So? What will it take?” He buried his face in her neck. “I’ll buy you anything you want.”

“You can’t give me what I want, and we both know it.”

“Abby . . .” he started but then fell silent.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

She didn’t press him. She could guess what he was thinking. Every now and then the same thought went through her mind: Why
couldn’t
she become his mistress? Seeing him some of the time was better than giving him up for good, wasn’t it? A great number of the aristocracy took lovers. How else could they compensate for marriages that were more about social standing or money or power?

But then she thought of Madeline and how terrible Lucien felt about how she had been treated; the dowager duchess and the crippling jealousy that had caused her to act as she had; how torn his father must have been, knowing he had hurt so many of those he loved. Lucien could never be happy playing his father’s role in a similar situation.

“I love you enough to want you to be proud of yourself,” she told him. “To be everything you can be—and you could never become that man if I was always tucked away somewhere, waiting for you, dividing your loyalties and your heart.”

He kissed her softly, meaningfully. “I’m afraid I will never get over you.”

Abby had her own fears. She was afraid they wouldn’t actually give each other up, which was why, after spending the next five nights in his bed, she packed her clothes and, without telling him for fear he would talk her out of it, left London.

Chapter 30

“What do you mean ‘she wasn’t there’?”

Rufus, the footman who had been escorting Abby back and forth from the college, shifted on his feet. “I’m sorry, Your Grace. She . . . she wasn’t waiting when I arrived. But . . . I found this envelope under a rock where she normally stands. And, although your name isn’t on it, I presume I was meant to find it and deliver it to you.”

Lucien felt sick as he accepted what the footman handed him. Each night he had anticipated Abby’s arrival even more than the one before. With Hortense gone and his health back, he could almost pretend they had forever. He had been so happy—except that he had been getting the itch to take Abby out to enjoy the many things he could show her and had begun to feel stifled by the secrecy.

Rufus bowed slightly. “Will that be all, Your Grace?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

Lucien didn’t open Abby’s note even after he was alone. If it was good-bye he wasn’t sure he could bear to read it. Instead, he stood drinking a glass of brandy and staring out at the moon. It was going to be a long night.

Without Abby, his whole life might feel like this night, he realized.

Finally, in the wee hours of the morning, he sat on his bed and unsealed what his footman had brought him. Abby had sent him only five words:
I will always love you
.

Exce
pt for her aunt, who was every bit as prying and intrusive and bossy as Abby feared she would be, Ewyas Harold turned out to be a respite. She missed the college and how productive she had always felt there. She missed the dream she had once held of becoming a surgeon. And she missed Lucien a million times more than all of that. But at least she was safe from her weaker self. There was little question she would have given in and continued to see him if she had remained in London. How did a woman go about giving up a man she loved that much?

She could only put physical distance between them and hope that, when her pregnancy became obvious to her aunt, Emily wouldn’t toss her out in the street. Abby hadn’t yet told her father about the baby, either. Doing so was going to be the hardest thing she had ever done, especially now that he was so happy she had quit pressing him to admit her to the college and had taken up more
womanly
pursuits.

“
Abby
?
”

At her aunt’s sharp tone, she glanced up to find Emily holding a tea tray.

“Could you move that book from the table so I can set this down,
please
?”

“Of course.” Setting aside her needlepoint, Abby did as she was asked. She really should have noticed that her aunt needed help. She would have, if not for how dreadful she was feeling. Since Christmas, she had been so nauseous she could scarcely swallow a bite of food; it took all of her willpower and focus just to keep herself from being sick on the rug. Although there was no other evidence of the baby yet, besides the soreness in her breasts, she feared her inability to eat normally—and how difficult it was to keep what she did consume down—would give her away.

“I swear, sometimes I wonder if that father of yours ever taught you anything,” her aunt grumbled.

Abby had been treated to other such comments, but because she had nowhere else to go, she smiled politely and ignored them. Her aunt had never approved of her. Now Emily was getting the chance to express that—and to try to remake her into a better version, something far more similar to what a young Englishwoman
should
be.

“We have been invited over to the Nesbitts’ for a gathering come Saturday,” Emily announced once she had poured them both some tea.

With effort, Abby managed to keep a pleasant expression on her face, but she couldn’t have had less interest in social gatherings. That included this one. The Nesbitts had two unmarried sons, and Emily had made no secret that she hoped one of them would take a liking to her “odd” niece. “How nice.”

Her aunt leaned forward to peer into her face. “You are pleased, then?”

Abby placed a crumpet, the very sight of which turned her stomach, on her plate. “The Nesbitts are a very nice family.”

“Yes, they are, but I have told you of their sons.”

“Indeed.”
Countless
times.

“Wait until you meet them. I think either would be the perfect match for you.”

Either
. As if it were that easy. One could replace the other. Abby had mentioned that she didn’t want any suitors, had indicated that she had no intention of marrying. But her aunt wouldn’t acknowledge those statements. It was her goal to see Abby with a husband and a family, and she wouldn’t rest until that happened.

“You don’t want to wind up alone like me, do you?” she always said. Emily had lost her husband to a carriage accident shortly after the birth of their only son, who had joined the navy and died, at nineteen, in the battle of Trafalgar. “At least
I
didn’t ask for this kind of life,” she would often add, as if Abby would sorely regret her choices.

Fortunately, Emily didn’t take the conversation in that direction today. Battling nausea was bad enough; Abby didn’t want to fight tears at the same time, and she had no doubt she would break down at the mere mention of having a family.

“So what will you wear?” Emily asked.

“My best dress, of course.” Abby provided what she knew to be the appropriate answer and pretended to sip her tea but dared not actually swallow. When her aunt wasn’t looking, she would slip her crumpet into the folds of her dress or her needlepoint and feed it to the pigs outside. They had consumed her food on several other occasions already.

“I wish we could afford the fabric for a new one,” Emily lamented. “Maybe I will write your father and see if he will send the funds.”

“Please, don’t bother him about that!”

Emily blinked in surprise that Abby would be so forcefully opposed. But Abby would not fit into anything Emily sewed for very much longer and couldn’t bear the thought of Edwin sacrificing while she was keeping something so important from him. She needed to figure out a way to tell him, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it quite yet. She needed some more time to cope with her heartache and sickness before tackling that obstacle. “There’s no need to put any more pressure on him,” she added in a far less strident tone.

“Pressure!” Emily echoed. “Your concern for him does you credit, my dear. You can be very sweet when it comes to Edwin. But he
is
your father, and he should provide for you a bit better than he does, I dare say. How will you ever catch a husband otherwise?”

She could have said she didn’t want to catch a husband. No one else could compare to the man she loved. But she had stated her position on marriage before, and Emily wouldn’t accept it. So what was the point? “The dress I have is fine,” she said instead.

“We’ll see how this first outing goes.” Emily gestured toward her plate. “You’re scarcely eating a thing. Are you not hungry?”

“Not particularly.”

“You’re never hungry,” she complained. “You eat like a bird—and are far too thin. That won’t be a good thing when you start bearing children, let me tell you. You’ll need your strength then. So many women die in childbirth. It’s tragic.”

Abby pretended to knock her needlepoint to the floor to create a diversion so that her aunt wouldn’t see the tears that welled up. Her predicament frightened her enough without hearing about the physical danger, which, like everything else with this child, she would face on her own. But when she bent over, matters only grew worse when the necklace Lucien had given her slipped out from under her dress, because Emily spotted it right away.

“Where did you get
that
?” her aunt asked, jumping up to take a closer look. “It looks very expensive.”

Abby’s breath stuck in her throat as she searched for an acceptable response.

“
Abby
?
”

“It was a
. . .
a thank-you gift,” she said.

“From whom? Who can afford such a fancy bauble? I dare say that must have cost fifty pounds.”

“It came from the Duke of Rowenberry.”

“A
duke?
No!”

“Yes, Aunt, it’s true.”

Emily studied it skeptically. “And how would
you
come to associate with such a powerful man?”

“Quite by accident.” She pressed a hand to her stomach as she fought off a fresh wave of nausea and told her aunt a far more innocent version of how she and Lucien had become acquainted.

“He was pretending to be a resurrection man?” Emily finally let go of her pendant, but she remained where she was, standing over Abby, only inches away. “And you bought a . . . a
corpse
from him? How terribly
sordid
!”

Abby could understand her horror and distress. But the parts of the story she held back would have shocked her aunt far more. “For the sake of the college, yes.”

“Lord in heaven, child!” she cried. “No wonder your father sent you to me.”

“Coming was my decision, Aunt Emily,” she responded. “I am one and twenty, after all.”

Her aunt ignored that. As long as she was financially dependent on her father, it didn’t matter how old she was. “You really
must
remember to leave such issues to the men who should be taking care of them in the first place.”

It was so tempting to argue, to tell Emily that she would have done exactly that—providing someone else had stepped forward to save Aldersgate. But she bit her tongue. She would be far wiser to do all she could to smooth this over. Then maybe she could come up with an excuse to return to her room.

“I have learned my lesson,” she said, choosing to appease her aunt.

Fortunately, that had the desired—and calculated—effect. “I wager you did!” Emily said. “How frightening it must have been, coming into direct contact with
. . .
with body snatchers!”

Abby took a tiny sip of her tea, but held her breath as she did so. The smell alone could be her undoing. “My father didn’t tell you, then?” she asked when she had managed—successfully—to swallow.

“No. But you know how reticent he can be. When he does write, I get barely a few lines and it’s months between letters.”

“Perhaps he thought my little adventure was of no consequence—since there was no harm done. It was kind of His Grace to keep me safe.”

“Indeed! But the duke is obviously very grateful to you, as well—if he would give you such a gift. Perhaps I should write to him and express my concern for your future. With his patronage and connections, he could see to it that you strike a far better match than any I could arrange.”

Abby nearly choked on another sip of her tea. “He is barely a . . . a distant acquaintance. And he has compensated me with this gift, Aunt Emily. That is the end of it. I would never impose on him further.”

“Of course you wouldn’t, dear. But, after an experience like that, he has to understand how it could hurt a young woman’s prospects. One must do what one must do.”

“Please! Do not contact him,” she pleaded. “I am . . . I am excited to meet the Nesbitts.”

Slightly mollified that Abby was at last showing some enthusiasm for her matchmaking efforts, her aunt patted her hand. “Perhaps one of them will strike your fancy.”

“What has been wrong with you these past few weeks?”

Lucien scowled at his mother, who was sitting across from him at breakfast. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“I have never seen you in such a foul mood. You were so happy to be recovered. Then the holidays arrived and you couldn’t seem to say a civil word to anyone.”

Because he was miserable. Since Christmas he had been spending a great deal of time with Madeline’s son. He was becoming quite enamored of the boy, but he felt terrible that he was the reason Byron didn’t have his mother. He had failed Byron
and
Madeline. He had failed his fiancée, too—by giving his heart to someone else. Maybe he had even failed himself, because he had destroyed his own chance at happiness by falling in love with the wrong woman. “I’m fine.”