A Matter of Grave Concern (30 page)

What should have been . . . Could she be right about that? “I can’t think only of myself,” he told her.

That earned him a kiss on the cheek and a small, sad little frown. “I may be a common bastard, brother, but I pray you will listen to me before it’s too late.”

He slid an arm around her, helping her brace against the wind. “If only I could.”

Abby had finally penned the letter to her father and planned to drop it in the post that afternoon. She had designated this day to tell her aunt, too. She did what she could to hide her stomach, always wore a loose-fitting dress, even if she had to alter it—and donned an apron or tied something else around her waist. But after what she had seen in the mirror this morning, it was a miracle her aunt hadn’t already guessed. She could only credit Emily’s continued ignorance to her poor eyesight and that the change had been so gradual. Surely a stranger would spot her condition in an instant.

Abby worked in the garden as she tried to gather the nerve she would need to sit her aunt down and have the discussion that had been weighing on her mind for so long. She had come to like working outdoors in the morning hours, before it grew too warm. It wasn’t something Emily particularly enjoyed, so it gave Abby a respite from her aunt’s company and provided a refuge of sorts. The garden had become a thing of tremendous beauty as a result of her devotion and love. Sometimes she dragged her time there out for several hours, until her aunt came to chastise her, claiming the sun would ruin her skin despite all she did to cover it.

Abby stayed in the garden that day even longer than normal. So when her aunt didn’t come get her, she began to grow curious as to what had stolen Emily’s attention. Nothing had ever held her up this long.

After clipping some roses for the dinner table, Abby removed her gloves and her wide-brimmed hat and went inside. She was about to call out to her aunt that the peach rosebush had produced its first bloom—and also that they needed to talk about something very important. But she heard voices in the drawing room and realized her aunt hadn’t come to summon her from outdoors because they had company.

“Yes, Your Grace. Thank you for responding to my letter.”

Abby froze. Aunt Emily had written Lucien, after all? Even after Abby had pleaded with her not to?

Blind rage might have hit her. Emily was such a busybody; she had no right to get involved! But Abby couldn’t feel anything except the rush of anticipation that welled up at the prospect of seeing Lucien again—and fear. Surely, he would notice her condition right away.

“I was hoping you would take an interest, of course,” her aunt was saying, “but I can hardly believe that you have troubled yourself to come so far.”

“I am eager to see Abby.”

“Indeed, and you shall.”

“Then she is still here.”

“Indeed. She spends her mornings in the garden. I will get her straightaway. But before I do, I just want to . . . er . . . warn you that she can be quite stubborn. And by that I mean she doesn’t always know what’s best for her. It goes that way with young people sometimes. If she tells you she doesn’t wish to marry, you mustn’t believe it. You and I both know she would never be happy spending her life as a spinster.”

“What a waste that would be,” he agreed and sounded surprisingly sincere, although Abby didn’t know how he could keep a straight face. He knew her—the real her and not the polite façade she had been forced to create to get along at her aunt’s—far better than Emily.

“Yes. Yes, I am glad you see my point.” Her aunt clapped her hands but then lowered her voice. “So . . . we must be . . . delicate with her.”

“Can I see her?”

Abby almost slipped out the back. She had to run away, go missing until after Lucien left, but Emily came puffing around the corner and caught her before she could slip out the door.

“Abby, you are never going to believe this!” she cried. “His Grace, the Duke of Rowenberry, is here! He must be very interested in helping me arrange a good marriage for you, because he has come clear from London! Who could ask for anything more personal than that? I am now sure everything I have been so worried about will be taken care of. I just hope . . . I hope you will cooperate.” She gave Abby a pleading expression. “He will know what is best for you. Please, let him advise you.”

He would know what is best because of his title? Abby couldn’t believe some of the absurd things Emily said. She considered telling her aunt right then—just to watch her face after thinking so highly of a duke simply for being a duke—that Lucien had fathered a child with her and she was carrying it right now. But, with him waiting, that was a conversation best reserved for later. Thank goodness she hadn’t told Aunt Emily about the baby quite yet. Somehow she needed to get through the next few minutes without giving away her condition.

“Go. Talk to him,” Emily said and gave her a little push.

Briefly closing her eyes, Abby fought the tears that threatened. She couldn’t break down the moment she saw him. That would only humiliate her and embarrass him. But the lump that was growing in her throat threatened to choke her—and her heart was beating so terribly hard.

She might have argued that she needed time to change, but she knew her other dresses wouldn’t conceal her condition half as well, so she threw her shoulders back and entered the drawing room.

He stood at the window with his back to her, seemingly deep in thought, and she stopped behind a high-backed chair for the cover it could give her. “Your Grace,” she said softly.

He pivoted immediately, and his eyes swept over what he could see of her. “Abby . . .”

“You look well.” She managed a smile to go with that understatement. He looked even better than normal.

She got the impression he wanted to come to her, to take her in his arms but held off. Emily had entered the room behind her and was looking on, which made it imperative that they be cautious of both their words and actions.

“So do you, thank God,” he said. “I’ve been so worried.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted.

“You’ve been happy?”

“As happy as can be expected.”

“Let’s all sit down,” Emily suggested, but Abby wasn’t about to come out from behind the chair and Lucien was too wrapped up in what he wanted to say to respond to her aunt.

“I found Madeline, Abby.”

Abby gripped the chair in front of her. “Where? When?”

“Emmett and Bill are the ones who stole Jack’s money. They sold Madeline to a ship’s captain, who took her to Australia and used her as a slave, so that Jack would think it was her.”

“No!”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve seen her?”

“I have indeed.”

“She’s . . . well then, I hope?”

“Alive and well and living with me in Mayfair.”

She clasped her hands together. “But . . . what about your mother? Surely, she wasn’t happy to see Madeline return.”

“She didn’t say much. I didn’t give her the opportunity. She merely packed up and retired to the country, and I have to admit I have not missed her company.”

“I see.” Her smile felt natural for the first time in ages. “Little Byron must be so happy.”

“He is. We all are.”

She felt a moment of confusion as certain details came to mind. “But Emmett and Bill are . . . are dead, hanged. How did you find out?”

“Agnes came forward.” He went to the coat rack, where Aunt Emily had hung his coat, and retrieved her elephant from the pocket, which he held out to her. “And, just recently, she brought me this.”

Abby covered her mouth. “My mother’s gift . . .” Now she understood why he had made the trip. He knew how important the ivory elephant was to her.

Fortunately, Emily was standing closer to him than Abby was and took the elephant, so Abby was able to continue concealing the shape of her body.

“Elizabeth, God rest her soul,” Emily said. “She gave you this?”

Abby nodded. “Not long before she died.” She focused on Lucien again. “And what of Anna Harper? Did you ever determine if she died a natural death?”

“I believe so. According to what Bill said before he went to the gallows, she died of illness, as we have already been told.”

“That’s a relief. I’m glad the Bolstrums didn’t harm her.”

“Yes. Three hanged is enough.”

She swallowed hard. “Indeed. Thank you for coming—and for letting me know.”

He didn’t take his leave, as she expected. He stepped forward and cleared his throat. “Your aunt has been concerned about you.”

“My aunt has always been concerned about me,” she said. “Please, don’t allow anything she has conveyed unsettle you in any way. When she mentioned soliciting your help, I pleaded with her to leave you in peace.”

“I believe that. But she thinks you need to marry, and I have to say I agree with her wholeheartedly. I would see you safe and well taken care of, if I could.”

Abby held up a hand. “Don’t involve yourself, Your Grace. I can make my own decisions and . . . selections, especially when it comes to a husband, thank you.”

“But I have the ideal candidate in mind.”

Abby couldn’t help being hurt that he would not only marry someone else but presume to pawn her off on a friend or associate. Did he think they would be able to continue their affair if they both had a spouse? Was this an attempt to bring her back to London, where they would once again be able to see each other? “Ideal in what regard, Your Grace?”

His eyes, when they riveted on hers, were filled with . . . hope? He certainly didn’t seem to think he was doing anything she might find offensive. “Ideal in that he loves you, Abby, and only you. And he will do everything in his power to make you happy. I think you should accept a man like that.”

Abby felt her eyebrows slide up. “Truly. If there was such a man.”

“But there is.” A smile curved his lips. “That man is me.”

Aunt Emily gasped and sank into a chair as if she might faint, but Abby and Lucien couldn’t concentrate on anything except each other.

“Lucien, no,” Abby said. “You could never be happy feeling as if you have let your mother, your entire family, down. Don’t let Aunt Emily’s letter force you into something you don’t really want.”

“I didn’t get your aunt’s letter until
after
I had made my decision, Abby. I have had several months to think about it. And Madeline managed to talk some sense into me along the way.”

“Sense . . . ?”

“She told me the greatest tragedy would be to deny a love like ours.” He came to her then, and went down on one knee. “Will you marry me, Abby? Will you be my wife?”

Abby could scarcely breathe, scarcely think. Surely, she was dreaming. “And your fiancée?”

“Hortense comes from a very powerful family. She will make an advantageous match . . . eventually.”

“What about your mother? Without question, she will disapprove.”

“That may be true, but there are several things she will have to learn to live with. Having you in my life will be one of them.” He caught her hand. “Well? What do you say?”

It wouldn’t be easy to be despised by his mother as Madeline had been. There would be other difficulties as well. She would very likely be spurned by his entire social class. But how could she deny him? “Yes! I say yes. You are the only man I could ever marry, because you are the only man I will ever love.”

Abby was so happy she forgot about her pregnancy long enough to let him sweep her into his arms. Then he froze, and his hands sought the swell she had been hiding.

“Abby?” He pulled back to look at what he had felt.

“Perhaps we will have a son shortly after the wedding,” she said.

He looked stunned. “When?”

“I have four months more.”

He came to his feet. “And you weren’t going to tell me?”

She gave him a look that pleaded with him to understand. “I didn’t want to put you in the same position your father was in, Lucien. If you came back to me, it had to be because you loved me, not because you felt a sense of obligation. I didn’t want to live the rest of my life feeling like I had forced you or created a burden you didn’t want to carry.”

His mouth opened and shut twice before he could find words. He seemed completely overcome. “Thank God I came to my senses. I almost lost even more than you,” he said at length, as if the mere thought frightened him, and buried his face in her neck.

“
You’re with child, too?
” Emily cried, but they were kissing and couldn’t answer.

Epilogue

Lucien paced in the drawing room where he awaited news of the birth of his baby along with Abby’s father, who had just received his knighthood; Mrs. Fitzgerald, who seemed to be a bit more than a housekeeper to Edwin these days; and Madeline; Byron and two cousins Lucien had grown up with. He wasn’t sure he had ever been quite so nervous or concerned about anything in his life. He and Abby had only been married a short while, but he had grown to love her more than ever in that time. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing her if something went wrong.

“Have another glass of brandy,” Edwin suggested. “It might calm your nerves.”

It might also get him roaring drunk, and Lucien didn’t want that. As useless as he felt, as unable to defend Abby against the threat she faced, he couldn’t abandon her by becoming intoxicated. “No, thank you.”

“They will both be fine,” Edwin assured him. “Dr. Bartello is the best baby doctor there is. He has taught at Aldersgate for years.”

Mrs. Fitzgerald beamed at him as if what he had said had to be God’s own truth—completely trusting and adoring—and he acknowledged that by patting her hand.

“I appreciate that,” Lucien responded, but nothing could ease his anxiety, not until he heard some word that Abby was fine and the baby, too.

“You will soon have an heir,” one of his cousins said. They had been speculating on the gender of the baby all day, in an effort to distract him and help pass the time. But even that wouldn’t work any longer.

No one mentioned the dowager duchess. His mother had declined to attend this gathering, and that bothered Lucien. She wouldn’t accept Abby, as he had feared. But he didn’t, for a moment, regret the decision he had made to marry her. Abby changed everything, made his world better and brighter and happier. He would give up
anything
before he would give her up.

“Uncle Lucien?”

Lucien focused on his nephew. “Aunt Abby told me to tell you, when you were at your most worried, that she is a strong woman and will make it through.”

Leave it to Abby to think of how he would feel ahead of time. “Your aunt means a great deal to me.”

“I know,” he responded, sounding much older than his years.

Madeline lovingly mussed her son’s hair. “It shouldn’t be much longer, Lucien.”

It had already been twelve hours! Lucien wasn’t sure how much more he could endure—and he wasn’t even the one going through the pain!

“It seems like it should have happened already,” he said.

With Mrs. Fitzgerald always only a few feet away, Edwin perched on the arm of the sofa. He acted as if he had no doubt that all was well, but Lucien could discern the worry that had crept into his eyes as the hours passed. That was what frightened him the most. If even Edwin was growing concerned . . . “First babies sometimes take their time.”

Suddenly, Lucien realized that he couldn’t wait another second. “I have to see her.”

Edwin scowled at him. “Have faith, man. Let Dr. Bartello do his job.”

“I can’t,” he responded. “I must reassure myself. I must—go to her.” With that, he strode out of the room and took the stairs two at a time. What had he been thinking, waiting in some drawing room in Abby’s moment of need? He didn’t care how unseemly it was for him to attend the birth, he would not be denied. He could not believe he had allowed convention to trap him thus far.

But as he approached the bedroom they shared, he heard Abby cry out in pain and froze. Could he really stand by and watch her suffer?

He hovered in indecision for several minutes—until another cry rang out.

Only this time it was a baby’s squall.

That got him moving again. His child had been born. It was obviously alive. Was it a boy or a girl? And what of Abby?

Saying yet another silent prayer for her safety, he threw open the doors. The doctor had the baby in his arms, but Lucien couldn’t focus on that. First, he had to know Abby had survived.

“Get out of my way,” he snapped as the servants who were helping the doctor came toward him as if they would stop him. “I want to see my wife!”

They parted immediately. No doubt they could tell by the tone of his voice that he would brook no interference. There was blood everywhere, so much that the sight of it nearly brought him to his knees. How could a woman survive that?

Then he saw her. She was pale and exhausted as she lay on the bed, propped up by several pillows, but when she looked up she offered him a wan smile. “Hello, Your Grace.”

“Abby . . .” He crossed to her immediately, took her hand and raised it to his lips. Tears welled up at the same time and, as much as that weakness embarrassed him, he was powerless to stop them. “I have been so worried.”

“I’m fine,” she said and even managed to give his hand a squeeze. “I’m going to be fine.”

He looked to the doctor for confirmation, and was relieved when Bartello gave him a confident nod. “She came through it wonderfully,” he said. “She is a determined young woman.”

“But all the blood . . .”

“Is normal,” the doctor said. “We would have cleaned it up before inviting you in had you waited just a little longer.”

He couldn’t have waited any longer. He had nearly gone mad as it was. “And my baby?”

One of the servants stepped forward and put a squirming bundle into his arms. “Congratulations, Your Grace. You have a son—and he’s a big boy with a powerful set of lungs.”

“Look what you gave me,” he told Abby in absolute awe.

She focused on him briefly, but then her eyes closed in apparent exhaustion. “He’s beautiful.”

Lucien pressed his lips to her forehead. “Not as beautiful as you, my love,” he said. “There is no one as beautiful as you.”