Authors: Elizabeth Johns
Oh, how she wished she could wake up from this horrid nightmare and reverse time! How could she have been so stupidly blind to sanity? She had not considered all of the repercussions. If only she’d had the time to think. How could she have known, living a sheltered life in a small town with no worldly experience? She missed her mother’s guidance desperately. Even though the past six years had been a struggle, they were still familiar, and she had been with her mother. She had never felt so alone as she did now. She had no claim to Mr. Abbott, no understanding. How could she have allowed herself to become carried away and lost to proper reason?
She was fully dependent on these people for everything. They were not truly family—the connection was minute at best. She had too much pride to be a leech on them, no matter their protests to the contrary.
She would insist on working while she was here and help finish the work at River’s Bend, and then she would return with the Fairmonts as soon as possible. She could go back and teach at a school. If not, she would find a way. She had to. But first, she was going to have to figure out how to face Mr. Abbott—and the lady in his life.
Suddenly, Mr. Abbott had climbed into the carriage and found her crying. His arms were wrapped around her and she felt a flood of mixed emotions. She wanted to melt into his arms, but her acute embarrassment and confusion at the scene she had just witnessed left her stiff. How dared he be so inconsiderate as to hold her moments after touching another woman?
Her first instinct was to run and hide, but he began jesting with her and she found it difficult to think with his arms around her. His nearness made her stupid with discomfort and conflicting emotions.
Before she knew what was happening, she was being ushered out of the carriage, into the house and up the stairs to a bedroom.
Lady Fairmont was hugging her, Josie was searching through her trunks, and brandy-laced tea was thrust before her. Before she knew what had hit her, she was in a nightgown and being tucked into bed with sweet reassurances that she would feel more the thing with a proper night’s sleep.
Gwen hated being fussed over, but she was glad to be left alone. She was too full of emotion—mainly anger with herself.
***
Andrew was enjoying a cup of coffee in the breakfast room the next morning, when Lord and Lady Fairmont entered looking exhausted.
“Did you not enjoy the crickets singing to you?” Andrew asked sarcastically.
He was given a look that would have melted a lesser man.
“You still do a mean leer, even with one eye. It only wants the quizzing glass for the finishing touch.”
“The house looks better than I expected.” Nathaniel said, ignoring Andrew.
“And you look very....” Lydia looked him over, noticing his brown skin and rough hands.
“Common? Labourish? Devillish handsome?” Andrew suggested.
“I wasn't going to be quite so tactless,” she said with a grin. “It suits you.”
He playfully tossed his napkin at her.
“It's not such a bad thing here to work. At least, it hasn't seemed to deter any of them. In fact, the more you work, the more respected you are.”
“Are you a choice commodity then?”
“Once you see the available commodities you will understand. Everything is quite spread out here. They do not concentrate their nobility into one city for a marriage mart.”
“They do not care for nobility at all, do they? Wasn't that part of the reason for the revolution?” Lord Fairmont reasoned.
“Partly. They may not care for titles and wealth by birthright, but you'll find them quite eager to make their fortune and name.”
“I cannot blame them for that.”
“Nor can I.” They all sipped their coffee, pondering.
“What is left to accomplish?”
“The interior of the guest wing, mainly. I will be glad to have the ladies' help with that.”
“Of course. Perhaps one lady more than another?” Lydia prodded.
He sat silent for a moment.
“I have done something stupid.”
“And this surprises you?” Nathaniel teased in a brotherly fashion.
He told Lydia and Nathaniel of the town’s belief that he was betrothed.
“Why is that such a bad thing? It sounds like you had to protect yourself.”
“If only that had worked. The worst part is I told them her name. They would not believe me otherwise.”
“You could have made a name up.” Nathaniel argued.
“You didn't!” Lydia understood the cause of Andrew’s hesitation.
“I did.”
“You have to tell her.”
“It would seem as though it would be that simple. But her reaction to seeing me did not give me confidence.”
“She is only tired and still grieving, I’m afraid. She will be better directly. I'm certain she will be delighted to discover she is betrothed.”
“Certainly. If only she had not refused me when I asked in England,” he stated in his usual tone of sarcasm.
“Pardon?” Lydia asked, stunned. “This makes no sense!”
“I was hoping her refusal was due to her mother’s poor health,” he said sheepishly.
“But why would she come here if she refused you?” she asked doubtfully.
“Might it have something to do with Lord Kendall trying to force her to marry him?” Nathaniel suggested.
“What has Kendall to do with her?” Andrew demanded.
“They are cousins. The current Lord Kendall’s father cut the family off, but the new one claims he wants to protect her and marry her.”
“Marry her? Young Kendall the fop?” Andrew was taken aback.
“Yes. Easton thought it smelled wrong and attempted to question the solicitor, but all we knew when we left was Kendall was below the hatches and needed to marry for an inheritance.”
“While I understand why he would want to marry Miss Lambert, it doesn’t fadge with him.”
“True, the Kendalls don’t breach good
ton
,” Lydia agreed.
“Nevertheless, he attempted to compromise her, then tried the civil route, then tried to abduct her.”
“Please tell me he was taught a lesson,” Andrew remarked, barely controlling his anger.
“Indeed.”
“I envy you that. Have you seen her this morning?”
“No, but I can do so now.” Lydia began to rise.
“No, allow me, please.”
Lydia raised an eyebrow, but sat back down. “You best tell her.”
Nathaniel smiled amusedly into his cup.
Andrew went in search of Miss Lambert. He would tell her and confess his need—no, his love—for her, and convince her to marry him. But she was not in her room. The door was open and the bed made up.
That's odd
, Andrew thought. He could not have missed her on the way to the breakfast room. She would not have taken the long route through the wing under construction, for it was cordoned off. He looked about and in the guest chambers and went to the nursery. She was nowhere to be found. He made his way back down to the ground floor, where he encountered Josie.
“Good morning, Josie. Have you seen Miss Lambert?”
“Good morning, sir. Yes, she is in the housekeeper’s room speaking with Cook.”
“Why ever would she do that?”
“Pardon my saying so, but don't be daft.”
“Apparently I am daft, Josie. Would you please explain it to me? In simple terms, mind you.”
“She believes she came here to be housekeeper.”
That caught him off guard. “I thought that honour was to be yours, Josie.”
“You are welcome to argue with her, sir. She insists on earning her keep.”
“And she calls me insufferable,” Andrew muttered under his breath. “Thank you, Josie. If you want anything, you need only ask. As far as I am concerned, you are the housekeeper. I will deal with Miss Lambert.”
She chuckled. “This ought to be amusing. I wish Miss Elly were here to witness this.”
***
He walked towards the housekeeper’s rooms, beginning to fume as he thought on it more. How could she think to work here? She was going to marry him and they were to live happily ever after on the country estate in Hampshire, or wherever her heart fancied—an Italian villa or French chateau—when he could convince her. He heard her voice as he approached.
“I'll just have my things brought to this room if you're not using it.”
“No, ma'am. I live with me children down in the servants’ cottages.”
“Very good. I will feel more comfortable here.”
“If you are sure, miss,” Cook said with uncertainty.
More comfortable? She wasn't comfortable?
“Yes, I am used to more modest accommodation, and it isn’t proper for the housekeeper to be above stairs with the family,” Gwen reassured Cook.
He could not stand to listen any longer. “Miss Lambert, may I have a word?”
She looked up and already had fire in her eyes. He was going to have to concentrate. She was magnificent.
“If you must.”
“I'll just be getting back to me dough in the kitchen.” Cook scooted out as quickly as she could before the dam burst.
“What do you mean by moving in here?” he demanded.
“I am here to keep house, and these are the housekeeper’s rooms.” She folded her arms and looked him straight in the eye.
“Says who?”
“Says Lady Easton,” she said with a satisfied smirk.
Blast. “You are my guest. I'll not have you working!”
“Who are you to say? You yourself are working!” she retorted.
“It's different! And only to get back to England faster!”
“Then go. We should be able to manage now.” Her green eyes flashed brilliantly.
“Gwen, please explain why you are doing this.” He threw his hands up, dumbfounded.
“Suit yourself, but may we leave my room?”
“No.” He folded his arms and planted himself against the door blocking the exit.
“No?”
“Only if you agree to stay upstairs.”
“Why does it matter?”
“Because that is where you belong.”
“This is preposterous. How can you say such a thing? I've no choice but to earn my living now, and I would appreciate it if you'd allow me to do so respectably.”
“I didn't mean...” He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. How could he make her understand?
“Have I been disrespectful to you?”
“Perhaps I misunderstood.”
“Pardon?” What could she have possibly misunderstood? How had their perfectly amiable relationship gone so sour? And when had she become so spirited? He had to stop this nonsense. He was going mad. All he could think about was how beautiful she looked with her wild hair and her cheeks flushed. He was not making his point satisfactorily with words, so he stepped forward, took her face in his hands and lowered his face to hers and kissed her.
She froze and stood immobile. He pressed his lips to hers and fought to maintain control. He did not wish to frighten her, but he'd dreamt of this moment for months, and he would savour it. He wrapped his arms around her and wanted to hold tight forever. He showered sweet gentle kisses upon her face and neck until he felt her melt in his arms. He took that as a good sign, and placed her arms around him as he moved back towards her lips. She fit him perfectly as he knew she would. God had made this woman for him, and the world seemed as it should be when he was with her. She still was not participating, but she wasn't protesting either. He would show her how he felt, since he could not seem to tell her.
“Sir!”
“Ma'am?”
She slugged him as hard as she could. She actually packed a decent punch, but it was worth it. Her chest was heaving, her cheeks and lips rosy, and her hair was everywhere. She'd never looked better, and he'd never wanted a woman more.
“Where did you learn to hit like that?” he said appreciatively.
“My brother. He felt I might need to defend myself from any more unwanted advances. Now, please leave.”
He stood there staring at her dreamily as she fumed. “Pardon?”
“I asked you to leave.”
“But...we kissed.” His shoulders dropped and he stared at her in disbelief.
She turned away.
“Gwen,” he pleaded.
“It cannot happen again,” she said quietly. “Now, please go.”
***
Gwen had to leave. She could not remain in this house. For one, because she had thoroughly enjoyed his kiss. She had never experienced anything like it, and she revelled in his attentions. It had been months since she had any meaningful physical touch. And also, since she had arrived at the plantation practically throwing herself at his feet, she should expect him to behave in such a manner. Why could she not have stayed in England waiting for his return like a proper lady? Then she could have found out about his other relationship without placing herself in this untenable situation. She should have listened to the Dowager. Now her chance at any semblance of self-respect was gone. Mr. Abbott had never promised anything other than friendship. The realisation and overwhelming disappointment she felt filled her with despair.