Authors: Elizabeth Johns
Chapter Five
How could she have forgotten herself for so long? A day that had been magical was how. She shook her head as she placed her bonnet on the table and ran in to check on her mother. The Dowager and Mr. Abbott quickly excused themselves and left, and Gwen set about tending to her mother who looked poorly.
“Are you unwell, Mama?”
“I confess I'm very tired. Cousin Henrietta was not taxing in the least, but I am simply not used to being up so long.”
“Forgive me, Mama. I forgot myself and all sense of time.”
“I gather you enjoyed yourself?” her mother said with a kind smile.
“I did, Mama. Mr. Abbott is everything kind and a delightful companion. I have much work to do on the painting tonight to have it ready for tomorrow, however.”
“Well, I will not hold you up. I would like to retire if you do not mind.”
Gwen's face wrinkled with concern, but she nodded and helped her mother to her room.
When she came back downstairs, the footmen were placing all of the canvases, the easel and paints about the parlour. It overwhelmed the small room.
“Oh, my goodness,” she exclaimed. “I did not know Mr. Abbott intended to bring everything here. I insist you take the extra supplies with you.”
“Oh, no, miss. He was very adamant that we leave everything here.”
She blew out a frustrated breath that sent her errant wisps of hair flying.
“Very well. I will take it up with him myself in the morning.”
The footmen left after gingerly placing the painting on the easel. She sat and had a cup of tea while staring at it. Not too shabby for six years without practice. She laughed to herself. She was not sure that Mr. Abbott was a connoisseur of art at all. She could literally splash paint on the canvas and he would declare it exquisite. It would serve him right if she did.
What had he meant by flirting with her so openly? She had thought he was flirting at least. She could not flirt back—she would make a fool of herself and it would change everything about this magical moment. And her heart would long for something it could not have.
Gwen was surprised he did not realise he was toying with her. He did not seem a libertine. It was likely just Society’s way. Even if he were honourable, they both knew nothing could come of such an unequal match. She sighed wistfully. It did no good to long for something that could never be. She had enjoyed his company very much. She has not had such fun in years—if ever—and she was grateful for that at least. She would cherish this time and his friendship and have a precious memory to hold onto.
She stood and placed an apron over her gown, and began the finishing touches to her masterpiece, trying not to think about the moment she thought Mr. Abbott was going to kiss her. When he hadn’t, she’d had to turn away to gather her wits and not pull his head down to hers.
It was dawn before she was satisfied. She prayed that the day would be dry so the paint would have a chance at setting. Not likely in Bath!
She took her weary body up the stairs to wash and change. She still had chores to complete before Mr. Abbott arrived for his picture.
Knock, knock
. Gwen jumped from the chair she had unknowingly fallen asleep in. After a moment’s disorientation, she rubbed her aching neck and realised that the Dowager and Mr. Abbott must have arrived. She pointlessly attempted to right her hair, and answered the door.
“Good morning, Your Grace, Mr. Abbott.” She curtsied and opened the door wide for them to enter.
“Good morning, Miss Lambert. Is it finished? May I see it?” Mr. Abbott asked excitedly.
“It is,” she said, unable to suppress a grin. “Follow me.” She led them into the parlour where the finished work of art stood brilliantly on the easel.
“I am astonished! This is the same picture from yesterday? I can scarcely believe it!”
“The very same that you declared glorious only yesterday.”
His eyes danced at her.
“I'll have you know I was tempted to splash paint all over it and call it finished.”
He barked an appreciative laugh and looked at her meaningfully. Her heart began to thud in her chest. She was both unnerved and enamoured by the feeling it gave her.
Would that she could have captured that look on his face. Perhaps she would attempt to do so when he left. Portraits had never been her forté, but she had never been so inspired by a face before.
He broke their gaze and looked back towards the painting. His look of appreciation was higher praise than any words he could have uttered.
“I definitely prefer your version to the real thing. It is perfect.”
She had added personal touches to the scene—hints of colours around the park, blooms on the tree and brilliant hues that captured the sun’s effect on the clouds.
“That is high praise, indeed, Mr. Abbott.”
“Miss Lambert, would you mind taking a short walk with me?
She looked behind her to where her mother and the Dowager were happily chatting. She nodded. He held the door for her and then offered his arm. She noticed he picked up a parcel from the table and put it under his other arm.
They walked in silence for some streets. Both were content arm in arm, but sad over Andrew’s impending departure.
“Forgive the indelicate question, but how much does one pay for a painting? There is no need to sell me a bargain.”
“It is my birthday gift to you.”
“That was not our agreement!” he protested.
“I insist. I assure you, being able to paint again was payment enough.”
“Very well, I thank you.”
They walked on in silence. Eventually, Mr. Abbott spoke. “I do not suppose there is any chance you would come with me?”
Gwen felt all of the air rush from her lungs, and her eyes filled with moisture before she could think to stop it.
He turned and took both shoulders in his hands and lowered his face to hers searching with worry. “Never mind, I take it back! I did not mean to offend you! Please say something, Miss Lambert.”
She rapped him on the arm playing off her hurt. She would not argue with him on his departure. It did not occur to him that his offer was highly improper. She’d had enough of those kind of offers, and she could not blame him for not wanting to marry her.
“I'm fine,” She did her best to smile and not look hurt.
“You don't seem fine.” He eyed her suspiciously but straightened and held his arm out. He stopped when he realized he had dropped the parcel he’d been carrying.
She looked at it curiously but refrained from saying anything whilst trying to compose herself.
“You know I cannot leave my mother,” she said quietly.
“I assumed as much.” He shoved the parcel into her hands. “This is for you.”
“What is this?”
“A small gift to keep you company in my absence.” He smiled rakishly.
“Go on open it!”
She removed the ribbon and paper to reveal two beautiful leather-bound books.
“Mr. Abbott! I could never accept such a gift,” she said, as she lovingly fingered the covers of
Robinson Crusoe
and
Gulliver's Travels
.
“I thought you could read them and imagine me off on a wild adventure of my own.”
“Is that not the story where the man is shipwrecked and lives on a deserted island for decades?”
“Perhaps not the best choice.”
“Speaking of gifts, I insist you take the extra painting supplies as well. Your footmen mistakenly thought you meant to leave them.”
She finally dared to look him in the eye. That was a mistake. His face showed genuine hurt.
“I apologise. I had not considered the impropriety. It is not as if I gave you jewels.”
She blushed.
“I was merely excited for you to read two of my favourite books.”
“It was very kind of you, Mr. Abbott, but it would not be proper.” She attempted to shove them back towards him. He pushed them back.
“Then we shall say you are borrowing them. I will not hear otherwise.”
She laughed and shook her head. “You are impossible.”
“Indeed. You are just now coming to that realisation?”
They turned and walked a while longer.
“How long shall you be gone?”
“I have no idea. My father seems to believe the property is in need of a good deal of work.”
“I see.”
“Will you write to me while I am gone?”
“I, I…” What could she say?
“Am I being improper? You have no guardian to ask permission, and you yourself pointed out you were no longer in need of chaperonage.”
“It isn't that.” She toyed with her stray hair. “I don't know how to post a letter to America, or if I could afford to do so. How long would a letter even take?”
“It will take weeks or months, I am certain. No matter, I will see to everything. When you have a letter written send it to my father’s house and it will be posted for you.”
“I don't know...” she hesitated.
“Please. Do not make me beg. It will make my time there less lonely and I will have something to look forward to.”
She looked at him with confusion. Why would he want her letters? Why was he interested in anything she had to say to the point of fronting the postage?
“Very well. I doubt there will be anything of interest to report from the fast town of Bath, but if you insist, I shall write so often you will regret you ever asked.”
She was rewarded with a smile that made her knees feel weak.
“I am much obliged.” He bowed and took her hands and bestowed a kiss on them, but he didn't let go. Her pulse raced with anticipation. “I shall look forward to each and every one. If you need anything at all while I am gone, promise me you will ask my grandmother or father.”
“That will not be necessary.”
“Promise me. I will not let go until you do.”
She sighed.
“Remember, I am impossible.”
“Indeed. Very well, Mr. Abbott. I would like to thank you for your friendship. I shall cherish your kindness to me long past your time in Bath.”
Friendship. Why was that such an inapt word for her feelings? He lingered, still holding her hand and brushing his thumb over it lightly. She was about to come undone, but could not force herself to let go. When it was time to part, he kissed her hand again meaningfully with a look she would never forget.
“Goodbye, Mr. Abbott.”
“Until later, Miss Lambert.”
***
“Are you terribly sad, dear?”
She turned back from where she was gazing out the window at the empty street. It was nearly time for the Dowager’s afternoon visit—the time when Mr. Abbott had called daily for the past week.
“A little, I suppose. It's funny how accustomed I became to his company in one short week.”
“I felt certain he would have d…d...d…" Her mother again searched for the right word and became frustrated and embarrassed when she could not remember.
Gwen hurried to cover the mistake as she had done often of late.
“Declared himself? No, Mama. He did speak some nonsense about me visiting America, but he spoke only of friendship. He did ask me to correspond with him. I hope you will not think me fast.”
She looked at her mother to smile reassuringly, but Mama’s eyes were filled with tears. Gwen went to her and held her. She had become the protective, comforting one, a reversal of roles. Her mother’s eyes held fear. She was losing control of her body and could do nothing about it.
“Do not worry for my feelings, Mama. I had no expectations of such a grand match.”
“I'm afraid, Gwen.”
“I know, Mama. I know.” She had to hold back the sob that was suffocating her throat. “But do not be afraid for me at least.”
She held her in a tight embrace, rubbing her mother’s hair and back. Her mother laid her head on Gwen’s shoulder, which seemed to calm her until the knock on the door came.
When the Dowager arrived, she looked more sombre than usual. She must be feeling Mr. Abbott’s departure keenly as well, Gwen thought.
“Is everything all right, Your Grace?”
“Nothing serious.” She waved her hand dismissively. “I have an unbecoming case of the sullens.”
Gwen refrained from comment, but nodded understanding. She felt glum herself.
"Where shall you go today, Gwen?"
"I'm not certain. I think I would like to paint a little. Something small."
She was able to keep an impassive face. Hopefully they would not ask to see her work. She would never confess to painting Mr. Abbott.
"Run along then. We will chat when you return." The Dowager took a seat. “Oh, Gwen,” she called after her as she fished around in her reticule. “This is for you.” She handed Gwen a letter.
Gwen dipped a curtsy and hurried off to her room to read it. She felt the need to escape more acutely today. With her mother growing worse and no one to help her, she needed the brief reprieve. She did not know how she could handle the situation if she did not have the Dowager.