Cheryl Reavis (11 page)

“Wouldn’t I?” she asked, because people here knew the scandal surrounding her marriage to Thomas. As she had grown stronger and had begun to meet some of Mrs. Harrigan’s friends—albeit unwillingly—she realized by the questions she was asked that many of them were quite willing to think that a wedding had never really taken place. Abiah Calder was obviously not the Winthrops’ “sort.” Regardless of the surface politeness, she had the distinct feeling that they believed she was perpetuating some kind of subterfuge on the family.

She gave a quiet sigh. Thomas urged the horse forward instead of answering her. She tried to see past him down the drive. Gertie had disappeared.

“She’ll be all right,” Thomas said.

“Did she say where she was going?”

“Back to Falmouth. I think she wants to be where La Broie can find her.”

Abiah could certainly understand that reasoning—and take comfort from it. “Thomas, what are you doing here?” she asked after a moment, because she’d never been one to simply let events unfold.

“I live here, Abiah. And my
wife
is here.”

He reined in the horse at the back door of the house and slid off, lifting her unceremoniously down to the ground. “Stand!” he said to the horse, throwing the reins over its head and letting them drop. “You, too,” he said to Abiah, catching her by the wrist when she would have escaped into the house.

“Thomas…” She stopped, because she realized suddenly how exhausted he was. She was more steady on her feet than he was.

She waited while he took his saddlebags down and slung them over his shoulder. Without saying anything, he pulled her after him through the kitchen door. One of the scullery maids cried out in alarm at the abrupt sight of them, and all the activity around the pots and sinks and tables abruptly stopped.

The elderly cook came bustling forward. “Tommy? Captain Thomas? Oh, it is you!”

“Hello, Vinnie, darling,” he said, smiling.

“Now this is a surprise!” Vinnie said, still beaming. “There’s not a one of us here knew you was coming home! Did you know, little missus?” she asked Abiah.

“No, I didn’t,” Abiah assured her.

“I didn’t know myself until the last minute,” Thomas said. “I would be very much obliged if you didn’t mention my arrival to the judge. I’ll let him know.”

“Whatever you say, Captain Thomas. Is there anything you need? Would you be hungry, sir?”

“Vinnie, I’m starving. If you could send me up something to eat later—I don’t care what, just make it a lot. And I need hot water for a bath.” He smiled again. “But you can look at me and tell that—unless you happen to be downwind. Then you wouldn’t have to look at me at all.”

Everyone laughed heartily.

“Bless your heart, Captain Thomas!” Vinnie said. “You just leave it to me.”

“Shall I stable your horse, sir?” one of the young men asked.

“Yes, thank you, Jack. Treat him well. He’s had a hard ride.”

Thomas glanced at Abiah. She made a feeble attempt to free her wrist. He wouldn’t let go.

“If you will all excuse me now,” he said. “I don’t have much time.”

He pulled Abiah along with him, not to the back stairs as she expected, but up the stairway that led directly into the main part of the house. He kept a firm hand on her elbow as they stepped into the hallway just off the main entrance foyer.

There were people milling about—guests waiting for the judge to call them to order. And Thomas’s sudden appearance elicited much the same reaction
among the judge’s guests as it had among the kitchen staff—except that muted gasps replaced the squealing. He ignored the commotion, turning his back to them.

“I’m sorry,” he said, apparently because of the look on Abiah’s face. “I’m following Gertie’s suggestion. She said you needed to be seen with me.”

“No, I don’t,” she assured him. It was far too late for that.

She kept staring at him. His sudden homecoming had left her rattled to the point of giddiness—like everyone else in the household. She didn’t know what to say to him. And she was very much afraid of what he had come to say to her. He was the same Thomas she’d always known, and yet he wasn’t. She had never seen him this gruff and unkempt and determined. His very presence overwhelmed her. And she could still feel the exact place where his hand had rested near her breast, and that in itself was disconcerting.

“I have to go pacify the judge,” he said. “When I’m done, you and I have to talk. Where will you be? Down here?”

“I don’t know,” she said, because she was ashamed suddenly. All she wanted to do was hide. Everyone must know why he was here. Elizabeth Channing must know.

“I’ll find you,” he said. He turned to go, then stopped. “It’s good to see you well again, Abiah.”

He rested his hand briefly on her shoulder and then left her there. She stood for a moment, feeling all the eyes on her. She nodded blindly in the direction of the people still standing in the foyer, wondering if Elizabeth
was among them—and then picked up her skirts and escaped up the stairs.

He couldn’t find Abiah. As soon as he’d finished humbling himself before the judge and seeing his mother, he went to the bedchamber in the west wing, where he thought she would be. She wasn’t, and none of the servants seemed to be certain where she had gone. He had checked the library and the outer fringes of the salon, wading through clouds of cigar smoke and speaking briefly with the guests when he had to. He didn’t see Abiah anywhere, and he was beginning to feel desperate. The fact that Elizabeth was supposed to be here tonight wasn’t helping matters.

He gave a quiet sigh and kept looking. He was much more presentable now—not that he thought that would help. Robbins, the butler, must have had the devil’s own time getting the mud off his uniform and getting it dried out enough to wear. Thomas couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a decent bath, or real food, but he couldn’t savor any of it. He had to leave in the morning. To his credit, the judge had pulled any number of strings to get him a short furlough. He’d made Thomas grovel for it, of course, and stand for a long time with his hat in his hand tonight, but it would be worth it if only he could talk to Abiah. Unfortunately, she seemed to always be one step ahead of him.

He finally saw her sitting in the gallery—alone—quietly listening to the chamber ensemble the judge had gone to great expense to bring in from New York City. She was wearing black, as befitted her mourning
for Guire, and she looked so serene and above it all. He thought she looked absolutely beautiful, as well. So, obviously, did Charlie Mayron. So did half the room. He’d never seen so many lovesick soldiers in one place in his life. What a run there must have been to get a chair by the open doorway so that the gallery would be in plain view. And Thomas understood the dynamics at work here perfectly. There was nothing more challenging to a man than knowing a woman he admired had just cause to hate him.

There was so much he needed to say to Abiah. He wanted them to put the past behind them and begin again in the here and now. But he was very afraid that, whether she still loved him or not, for all intents and purposes she was done with him. She clearly had no desire to talk to him, regardless of how much trouble he’d gone to to get here. And how much that had to do with his former alliance with Elizabeth he could only guess. Who knew what Elizabeth might have said? He was reasonably sure she had been interfering with his correspondence. She might even have told Abiah of their encounter in the hotel—and how the hell could he explain that? He’d had a moment of weakness, but nothing happened? And if she wanted to know precisely
why
nothing had happened, could he in good conscience say anything but that the timely arrival of Sergeant La Broie and Bender had prevented it?

Elizabeth was used to having her own way. She was used to having her capricious notions instantly made real. He was sure now that was what he had been—a
capricious notion. Some kind of whim. She must have thought it would be exciting to involve herself with Judge Winthrop’s black sheep grandson. The trouble with black sheep, however, was that they couldn’t be led. Sometimes they didn’t even recognize the attempt.

He sighed again. He was dead on his feet. If Abiah knew he was down here among all her other admirers, she gave no indication of it. There was only one thing left to do. He began to climb the wide stairway to where she was. She didn’t notice him at first, and when she finally did, she seemed every bit as startled as she had on the gravel drive this afternoon. He thought she would have actually bolted if only she’d had the room. He approached her with a good deal more confidence than he felt, bowing to her slightly and extending his hand.

She looked at it, but didn’t take it.

“We’re going now,” he said.

She only looked at him, her beautiful dark eyes holding his.

“You know we have an audience,” he said quietly. Indeed, he thought the chamber ensemble could stop playing and escape out the French doors and no one would even notice. “Perhaps you should also know I’m not above making a scene if that’s what it takes.”

When she still didn’t respond, he took her by the hand anyway and pulled her to her feet.

“Thomas, people are going to think—”

“Yes, they are,” he assured her. “They will think exactly that, and all the men here will envy me.”

He tucked her hand under his arm and walked her
along the gallery in plain view of the overflow crowd in the foyer and the soldiers by the drawing room doors. And he did so to a spattering of quiet applause from the men who would have given anything to be in his shoes.

“Thomas—”

“We have to talk, Abiah. I’m leaving in the morning.”

She didn’t say anything else. She came quietly along with him, waiting in the hallway while he opened her bedchamber door. She went inside first and he followed, looking around. He must have seen it before—perhaps as a boy, exploring. Thomas vaguely remembered that there had been a room of some kind with red doors. Whatever this had once been, it was
hers
now. Her presence, the lavender-and-rosewater scent of her, permeated the room. She was tidy, but not tidy enough to please the judge, and by now she probably knew that. Her books lay scattered, about in various stages of being read, and she had been writing a letter at her desk. Of course, it wasn’t addressed to him, but to a lady in New Bern.

It was raining still. He could hear it spattering against the windowpanes. Only the small lamp on the writing desk was lit. He moved to the fireplace and lit all the candles on the mantel as well, just for something to do. Then he took the coal shovel and stoked the fire, and immediately thought of that cold December day after Fredericksburg. He had built up the fire for her then, too, and tonight he was every bit as afraid of losing her.

Abiah stood in the middle of the room, waiting. She seemed composed enough outwardly, but he remained convinced that she would run away if she could.

“Will you sit down at least?” he asked.

“No,” she said.

He drew a quiet breath and removed his uniform coat and tossed it aside. It landed on the fainting couch and slid to the floor. He made no attempt to retrieve it. He loosened his black cravat and tossed it aside as well.

“Why are you behaving like this?” she asked after a moment.

“Like what?”

“Like…a husband.”

“I am a husband.”

“Are you?”

“Abiah…”

“I can hardly bear look at you, Thomas. I can see it in your eyes.”

“See what?”

“How much you
don’t
want to hurt me.”

“That’s true. I never wanted to do that—”

“Do you remember what I said?” she interrupted. “Do you remember that I asked you about your engagement?”

“Yes.”

“Well, now what?”

He looked at her. He had no idea what she meant. “I…don’t understand.”

“I’m not sophisticated enough to guess what is to be done,” she said.

He tried to take her hands in his. “Abby, what are you talking about?”

She pulled her hands free. “What happens now? What do you want? If you made your plans thinking you’d be a widower, then—”

“For God’s sake, Abby!”

She gave a quiet sigh. “Just tell me what you want.”

What did he want?

An interesting question. He moved away from her and knelt down on the hearth to shovel more coal into the grate. He was so tired, too tired to think straight. He had to make her understand—somehow—without getting into his being with Elizabeth at that Falmouth hotel. He could truthfully say she had fooled him—in the beginning. But he had no excuse whatsoever for La Broie’s catching him with his mouth on hers and his hand on her breast. How could he tell Abiah something like that? It was a stupid thing for him to have done. And if it cost him Abiah’s love and respect…

He looked at her, then pushed the large, upholstered footstool in her direction. “Please sit,” he said. “So I can.”

She hesitated, then did so. He crossed the room and sat down in the only chair—the gilded Boston rocking chair that had once belonged to his grandmother Harrigan. It was practically the only thing he had from the black sheep side of the family, and he supposed that his mother had brought it in here for Abiah. He leaned back and closed his eyes. If he could just…

He must have dozed for a moment. He suddenly
leaned forward, expecting her to be gone again. But she wasn’t. She was sitting on the footstool, waiting. And he had been asleep much longer than a moment. She had unbound her hair. It hung in a long braid over her shoulder. And she was no longer wearing the black dress. She was wearing a gray muslin one—light mourning, he supposed it was called. It was not the kind of dress he remembered from his visits to the Calder house, but she looked more like Abiah now.
His
Abiah.

“Shall I tell you what I want?” he asked, leaning back in the rocking chair again.

“Yes,” she answered.

“I want you to come closer—so I can see your face.”

“All right,” she said after a moment. She stood and pushed the stool nearer with her foot. He could see her white stockings, ankle to knee, as she did so.