The Lady's Disgrace (11 page)

“Oh my goodness, sir. Whatever happened here?” Mrs. O’Neill hurried over, wiping her hands on her apron, taking in the burned garden shed and Abigail gasping in his arms.

“Mrs. O’Neill, please see that baths are readied for both my wife and myself. Then please prepare some tea for Lady Abigail.”

Doing something—anything—to get his mind off the possibility of what could have happened, calmed him. Freed his mind to focus on what he needed to do to help his wife. He gathered Abigail in his arms and stood. She wrapped her arms around his neck as another fit of coughing took her. Without a backward glance at the smoking rubble, he headed to the house.

Joseph stumbled, his body weakened from the strain of the morning events, as he reached their bedchamber. Sanders rushed into the room right on his heels. “Sir, please let me help my lady out of her clothes.”

“No.”

The maid jerked at his sharp tone. Perhaps he was slowly losing his mind, but he didn’t want anyone touching Abigail, except him. Right now he trusted no one. Although he couldn’t imagine who would want to hurt his wife, this was one accident too many. Once she was bathed, and safely ensconced in bed with a tray of tea, he would question her.

“Sanders, please fetch a nightgown for her ladyship and lay it out. We will need some of her soap and warm towels. I will attend to her.”

The young maid appeared scandalized. “Sir?”

“Just do as I say, please.” Still holding Abigail, he turned toward the door as a footman carried in the large tub, followed by a maid and another footman carrying buckets of water. Abigail whimpered when he tried to release her, so he sat on the daybed across from the fireplace and continued to hold her until the tub was filled, Sanders had laid out a nightgown, and the door had quietly closed.

“Sweetheart?”

She shook her head, bringing a smile to his lips since she looked so much like a stubborn child. “Come on, love. Up we go.” He rose and released her legs so she had no choice but to stand. Gripping her hands in his, he backed up and studied her. “I need to get your clothes off so you can bathe.”

Nodding, she remained perfectly still as he removed her clothing, tossing them into a pile that he would have Sanders throw away. The stench of the smoke would never leave the garments. Once she was naked, he again scooped her up and carried her to the tub. Easing her into the warm water, he watched as she sighed and leaned her head back, her eyes closed.

He removed his cravat, jacket and waistcoat, then rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. He’d have to get rid of his garments as well. Noting his soot-covered hands, he swished them in the water and gave them a quick wash.

She looked so small, so vulnerable. He rubbed the bar of scented soap over the cloth and removed the grime from her face. She opened her eyes, a haunted look in their depths that twisted his insides. “May I have a drink of water?”

“Of course.” He handed her the cloth and crossed the room to the pitcher of water on the table next to their bed. He filled a glass and returned to her. “Here, sweetheart, but don’t drink it too fast.”

“Thank you.” She sipped the liquid, closing her eyes as the water slid down her throat.

Once more the fear that had struck him when he’d first seen the garden shed on fire and had realized that Abigail was in there, gripped him. She could have died, right here in the safety of their own property. How she came to be in the shed, and the place on fire, was something he would investigate thoroughly…later.

For now, he only wanted to hold onto her.

An hour later, they were both bathed and lying in bed, wrapped in each other’s arms. Abigail had finished her tea, and he’d downed more than his normal quantity of brandy. The ordeal of the morning had taken its toll and after very few words, both of their throats being somewhat sore, Joseph started to drift off to sleep.

His eyes half-closed, he ran his finger down Abigail’s soft cheek. She smelled of flowers and sunshine. All the odor of smoke had left the room with their clothes. Her thick braid rested over one shoulder, and her breathing had the soft and gentle pattern of deep slumber.

She’d changed his life in the short time they’d been married. Just the thought of losing her, of never again seeing her beautiful face first thing in the morning, or last thing at night, terrified him. Somewhere along the way she’d become very important to him. To his life, his very existence.

He continued to study her, more grateful than he could ever express that she was here, next to him, alive and well. Tomorrow—when the horror of today was behind them—they would talk about the fire. Another accident? Not likely, but the alternative, that someone was trying to harm Abigail, was too much to contemplate. He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead.

Sleep well, my love.

Chapter Eleven

“You want to go to London?” Abigail rested in bed, propped against two pillows. Joseph sat on the bed, causing the mattress to dip. He was fully dressed in buckskin breeches, with a blue jacket over a cream-colored waistcoat. His cravat was starched and expertly tied. He’d apparently been up for some time.

She had just awakened from a night of fitful slumber. Dreams had invaded her sleep about flames and being trapped behind them, with Joseph on the other side, calling her, but unable to breach the distance.

It had been near dinner time the night before when they’d awoken from their nap after the terror of the fire. They shared a tray in their room, neither of them wanting to dress and go down to dinner. He’d said very little about the fire, assuring her she needed to rest, and they would discuss it on the morrow. Despite her nap, she’d barely had the energy to finish her dinner. Soon after the tray had been removed, he’d tucked her in, kissed her on the forehead and had left the room to attend to some business in his study.

She’d awoken several times in the night, shaking and gulping air. Each time Joseph had held her and whispered words of comfort. She’d clung to him, chagrined at the raw need to feel his arms around her. For his strength and warmth. Were she able to crawl inside his body she would have.

In the light of day, she was able to push that memory to the back of her mind.

His voice interrupted her musings, drawing her attention back to her question. “Yes, I need to take care of some business, and it would be a good opportunity for a visit with your family.”

“But what about your duties here? We have the building of the school to supervise. You have students to tutor and services on Sunday.”

“I directed a note to my father last evening, and he is sending a curate from his church to oversee things for a while.”

“For a while? How long do you plan for us to be gone?”

“I don’t know. Not too long, though. I thought you would be thrilled to see London again.”

“Oh, Joseph, you are still under the impression that I miss all of that.” She shook her head. “When we discussed our arrangement I thought I’d made it clear. I no longer want that sort of a life. Not that I didn’t enjoy it, but after three years, I want more than gowns, balls, and parties.”

“Yet, had your marriage to Redgrave gone forward, that is precisely the life you would have had.”

Funny how that thought hadn’t crossed her mind before now. Would she have grown bored with
ton
life? Her mother had been involved with society for years. But she’d also spent a great deal of time at their country estate where she’d romped with her seven children.

Redgrave had impressed upon her more than once that he detested living in the country and was satisfied to have his steward take care of his estate while he stayed in Town. He’d also stated that an heir and a spare was all he expected to ever need. When she’d mentioned her parents and their large, loving family, he’d smirked as if she were a silly child. Why hadn’t she disputed this? Strange that, at the time, his comments had never bothered her.

Considering them now, they made the man appear frivolous and shallow. Which was exactly what he’d turned out to be. It was difficult not to compare him to Joseph, who was devoting his life to helping others. Her husband’s love of children had spurred his concern about their education. Feeling uneasy with the comparison and not sure what to do with those thoughts, she quickly dismissed them.

She drew herself up. “I don’t wish to dwell upon the past.”

Joseph’s smile faltered. “Of course not. Please excuse my bad manners.”

Now she’d hurt his feelings. She tried to smooth over her blunder by smiling brightly. “When shall we leave?”

“I thought I’d give you today to rest and prepare yourself. I’ve notified Sanders of our trip, so she is doing whatever it is that maids do when their ladies travel.”

Abigail thrust the covers aside and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. “In that case, I had best speak with her.” She faltered when she stood, surprised at the dizziness that washed over her.

Joseph rushed to her side. “Are you all right?” He wrapped his arm around her waist, studying her with concerned eyes.

“I don’t know. How strange. I never swoon.”

He eased her back on the bed. “Perhaps you need more time to recover from yesterday. Shall I put off our trip?”

“No. I most likely rose too quickly.” She patted his hand. “I’ll be fine.”

He studied her for a moment and then crossed the room. “I will send in Sanders. Should you change your mind and wish to delay the trip for a day or so, merely send word. I will be in my study, going over a few things.”

…

Joseph closed the study door and wandered to the window. He stood with his hands behind his back in the very spot where he’d seen Edward race for the burning gardener’s shed yesterday morning.

Something was wrong, and he didn’t know how to go about fixing it. Hence the reason for a trip to London. He had to speak with Drake, get his perspective on this. Abigail had been involved in three mishaps since she’d arrived in Addysby End. The first one had, indeed, been an accident with the Dinger’s pig. But the gunshot and burning gardener’s shed left him with an uncomfortable feeling.

He hadn’t had a chance to question Abigail as yet. She’d been sleeping on and off since the fire. But earlier this morning, he’d discovered that the latch to the gardener’s shed door had been secured from the outside. It was possible the wind had blown the door closed with such force that the latch had engaged, however, to his recollection, there had been only a soft breeze yesterday.

He pounded his fist against the window frame in frustration. Abigail had taken it quite well when she’d been shot, but the thought of someone purposely harming her was enough to cripple him. Tomorrow when they took the carriage to London, they would have a long talk. She might hold a clue as to what had happened, but he didn’t want to alarm her. It was best if he dealt with his concerns by himself.

It might become necessary for him to leave her at Manchester House in London for a while. But how in heaven’s name could he explain to her brother that his sister, whom he’d given him to protect and cherish, had been the victim of multiple injuries in such a short time?

The more difficult issue—one that he hadn’t spent too much time considering—was if these happenings were not accidents, who wished Abigail harm?

And why?

…

Joseph climbed in alongside Abigail in the well-sprung coach that would take them to London. The skies were heavy with threatened rain, and the air cool for summer. They’d managed to get an early start, which would allow them to reach London by the next day.

“May I say you look particularly lovely today, my dear?”

Abigail wore a blue carriage gown edged with deep blue trim and a matching bonnet. The frock seemed too big. Had she had lost weight while in his care? No surprise, considering what she’d been through since her arrival.

She tugged on her gloves and smiled. “Thank you. Although I truly don’t miss the hustle and bustle of London, I am looking forward to visiting with my family.”

“Good. I want you to relax and enjoy the journey.” Her voice was still a bit raspy. The haunted look had left her eyes, but there remained tension in her face, as if she expected bad news. He hated the feeling of helplessness that evoked. He wanted to make Abigail happy, to give her a life that, if not what she’d planned for, at least made her content. She deserved a husband who adored her, and lively children to smother with the abundance of love she possessed. Love he intended to have her one day cast in his direction, despite her determination to remain apart from those feelings.

Sitting quietly alongside him, his wife studied the landscape as the coach started with a jerk and then smoothed into the familiar sound of horses’ hooves striking the ground and the squeak of the carriage wheels turning. As much as he hated to bring up her latest debacle, he had to get to the bottom of her accidents.

Joseph reached out and took Abigail’s hands in his, kissing her knuckles. “We need to speak about the fire.”

Immediately her body stiffened, and her eyes closed briefly. She licked her lips and took a deep breath. “Yes, I know.” She squeezed his hands. “You needn’t look so anxious. I can speak of it now.”

“I am feeling quite the cad for having brought you to a place that has been so unwelcoming.”

She shook her head. “Do not blame yourself. I am sure it’s merely a run of bad luck.”

He turned her hands over and rubbed his thumb across the soft skin on the inside of her wrist. “I need to know exactly what happened. How you came to be locked in the shed.”

For a minute, despite her assurances that she could speak of it, he feared she would refuse. Her breathing increased, and she worried her lower lip so that he expected to see blood. “There is really nothing strange about that. As I mentioned at breakfast that morning, I wanted to seek out Edward to discuss my plans for the garden.” She moved her gaze from him and stared out the window at the passing scenery.

“I thought I saw him walk around the back of the orangery. I assumed he had gone to the shed. When I got there, the door was open, so I called to him from outside. When he didn’t answer, I went inside and called him again.”

“Did you take the lantern that hung outside the garden shed so you could see better?”

“No.” She furrowed her brow. “I wasn’t even aware one hung there. I could see far enough in with the light from the open door. I took several steps inside, looked around and then the door slammed behind me.” She paled, no doubt at the memory of being enclosed in darkness.

Abigail took a deep breath. “I then found it hard to see, so I turned in what I hoped was the right direction to the door. I tried to open it, but it became apparent that when it had slammed shut, the latch had engaged.” She looked down at their joined hands. “It was when I shouted for help that I smelled the smoke.”

Without conscious thought he encircled her waist with his hands and pulled her onto his lap. At first, she stiffened, and then relaxed against him, laying her head on his shoulder. He wrapped her in his arms and held her close, inhaling her scent, feeling her softness. His gut twisted at how close he’d come to losing her.

Quite possibly the slamming of the door had caused the lantern to fall and spill oil onto the door. But the question remained as to how the oil had been ignited. Unwilling to distress her further, Joseph just held her, running his palm up and down her arm, wishing to never let her go.

…

The next afternoon they arrived at the outskirts of London, passing through the worst parts of the city. The housing was poor and bursting with criminals and diseased prostitutes.
The effect was one of a densely populated area of gloomy, narrow streets and stark ugliness.

Abigail shivered, hating this part of the trip when returning from the country. Her heart began to thump wildly when a man approached the carriage, running alongside it, begging for money. Joseph snapped the curtain closed and reached under the seat for his pistol.

“Heavens, you won’t shoot the man?”

Joseph used his finger to hold part of the curtain open, keeping his eye on their surroundings. “Not as long as he keeps his distance.”

She shivered, wishing herself through the streets as quickly as possible. The carriage seemed to speed up, their driver apparently as anxious to leave the area as they were. Within ten minutes they’d left the sordid world behind and had entered the shopping district.

Fashionable ladies strolled along, their maids and footmen following behind, carrying boxes and bundles. Abigail smiled at the familiar scene, feeling as though she’d been away for months instead of only several weeks.

Soon most of the
ton
would be leaving the stench and heat of the city and heading to their summer homes. Had she not accepted Joseph’s offer, she would be returning to Manchester Manor as an unwed and abandoned woman—very close to being on the shelf.

Her gaze slid toward him. More at ease now, since they’d entered the business part of town, he’d returned his pistol to its place. The sun peeking between the clouds streamed through the windows of the carriage, bathing his face in sunlight. His hair needed a trim, the dark ends curling over the back of his cravat. He rested his chin on his index finger and thumb, staring out the window, apparently deep in thought.

Her husband.

The man who had saved her from yet another Season. Who had promised from the Book of Common Prayer to
love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health; forsaking all other…

How many weddings had she attended and heard the same words repeated? And so few of the matches had involved love. Yet everyone sat in still quietude and listened to the bride and groom promise to do such before God, when most marriages were merely a convenience. Like hers.

It hurt to think that Joseph might regret the hurried wedding. Not that he’d ever given her any reason to believe so. As a true gentleman, he wouldn’t. But she had been so focused on what she would and would not grant him as his wife, she’d never thought to ask if he’d had someone in mind to make an offer for. The thought of her selfishness horrified her.

“Joseph, I know it is a bit late to ask this, but had you someone already in mind to marry before my brother talked you into this arrangement?”

He graced her with that slow half smile that always went directly to her middle. “Indeed, it is a bit too late to ask that question.” His eyelids grew heavy and he reached his hand out. “Come here.” She rose from her seat and settled on his lap. He brushed back an errant curl that had escaped her bonnet. His deep brown eyes appeared to look right into her soul. “Nowhere on this earth is there anyone else to whom I would prefer to be married.”

Slowly his head descended, his lips covering hers. The kiss was long and thorough, his tongue teasing her lips until she opened and he swept in. Small butterflies took flight in her stomach, spreading upward, setting her heart to thumping, and her breathing to hitch.