Julia London (11 page)

Sometimes she even allowed herself to imagine the Michael of her memory roaming the ruins. Try as she might, she could
not get past the tendril of longing she had held for years, a tendril for the memory of him that was so inextricably wound up in the real man. The real man looked like the Michael of her memory, moved like him, and even sounded like him. But the words that came out of the real Michael’s mouth were so wrong, so unlike the memory. Fortunately, at the ruins, she could substitute her own words in place of the heartless ones.

At night, after an early supper, Abbey retired to her new sitting room. She always had Sarah in tow, sometimes even Cook, and they would wile away the hours much as she had in Virginia. When two younger maids had come with fresh linens and the weekly papers from London one evening, Abbey eagerly invited them to stay. By the end of the week, Abbey played hostess to a sitting room full of female servants from Blessing Park.

They tried to teach her needlework, but to no avail. Undaunted, Abbey began to embroider a picture of Blessing Park for a draught screen. None of the servants had the heart to tell her how poor her skills were. When her patience with the needlework wore thin, she would read outrageous
on dits
from the London papers that had the women laughing hilariously. Or she would read from the history books that graced her room and private library. Apparently the Almighty Darfield enjoyed purchasing expensive volumes of history and in a matter of days, the women were quite well acquainted with Persian history.

She also played her violin for them. The first time Abbey had produced the instrument, she claimed she was rather a mediocre talent compared with the great virtuosos and could not sing or play the pianoforte as might be expected. But the beautiful strains of music that lifted from her strings kept the women in awe and brought a tear to Sarah’s eye. Every night after that, the same luscious strains of music would drift through the house, and before long, Sebastian, Jones, and the master’s valet, Damon, would hover about the hallway, along with an occasional footman, enraptured. Sebastian remarked one morning that there was nothing the marquis enjoyed more
than music. Abbey had wrinkled her nose at that; she would have sworn they had absolutely nothing in common.

Several more days passed and the Devil of Darfield still did not return. Abbey was proud of herself for almost forgetting the King of Rude and settled comfortably into the world she had created for herself. It was a bucolic and simple existence, one she found more and more to her liking as the days passed. She began to relax for the first time since coming to England, and decided that she could very easily make a life at Blessing Park if she were forced to do so. She convinced herself that the absence of a loving husband—and naturally, children—would not be so hard to bear as she feared, as long as she had Blessing Park and the many diversions it offered her.

One morning she received two letters. The first, much to her delight and surprise, was from her second cousin, Galen Carrey. Even though she had not heard from him in some years, she recognized the handwriting immediately. Quite excited about receiving a note from her
dearest
—and only—male cousin, Abbey danced a little jig about her sitting room before carelessly breaking the seal.

Abbey was thrilled with the prospect of a visit from Galen. She remembered him very warmly. The son of her father’s
cousin, as best she could recall, Galen, who was just a few years older than she, had spent a few summers aboard the
Dancing Maiden
. She had worshipped him; he had paid special attention to her, particularly on those long voyages to the East. It was Galen who had given her her first and practically only kiss beneath an Indian Ocean moon. She sighed at the memory, wondering absently why she had not heard of him in the last few years.

She shrugged happily as she reached for the second letter, which was from a neighbor inviting her and Lord Darfield to Sunday dinner after church services. Delighted, Abbey returned word that if they did not mind, she would attend alone, as Lord Darfield was away.

When Sunday came, and a rather plain carriage was brought to the front of the house, Michael still had not returned.

Wringing his hands, Sebastian followed Abbey to the door like a fretting governess. “Lady Darfield, I would be remiss in my duty if I did not tell you that the marquis will not care for you dining at the Havershams’ without him. He was quite insistent you not leave Blessing Park.”

Abbey smiled sweetly at Sebastian’s reflection in the mirror as she adjusted her bonnet. “I am only attending church services and a friendly dinner, Sebastian. He should not care in the least.”

“He
expressly
bade me to keep you at Blessing Park until such time as
he
has the honor of introducing you!”

“Ha!” Abbey snorted and turned to face Sebastian with her hands on her hips. “I am sure that if he truly wanted the honor, he would be here to do it. Really, he has no grounds to object!” she replied cheerfully.

“I beg your pardon, Lady Darfield, but I must
insist
—”

Abbey had already skipped down the steps to the waiting carriage. With a sigh of resignation, Sebastian stood beside Jones and watched as she chatted amicably with the Havershams’ footman, who looked stricken by the unusual familiarity.

“She will cause trouble if Lord Darfield does not return
soon,” Jones remarked dryly. He struggled to suppress a smile when Abbey patted the footman on the arm before climbing into the carriage. The poor man looked helplessly at Jones and Sebastian.

“He shall have no one to blame but himself,” Sebastian replied with a sniff as the carriage pulled away from Blessing Park.

The Havershams, an elderly couple with no children, were more than delighted to host a marchioness, and a pretty, youthful one at that. Abbey was delighted with her hosts. They were open and warm, and Abbey found herself talking freely about her life, the Havershams hungrily hanging on to each and every word. They laughed loudly as Abbey regaled them with tales of her year in Egypt, where she had learned the very tasteless belly dance. Pressed to demonstrate, Abbey reluctantly agreed despite a gnawing sense of impropriety, and by the end of the afternoon, Lord and Lady Haversham were coaxed into trying.

When she returned to Blessing Park late that night—a bit in her cups, Sebastian ruefully noted—Abbey could hardly contain her glee as she recounted how Lord Haversham had slowly gyrated while peering through his monocle, and Lady Haversham, who could not gyrate, had instead bounced up and down. Sebastian had listened politely, bid his lady a good evening, then marched straight to the study and poured himself a big, stout whiskey.

The very next day the Havershams appeared at Blessing Park to fetch Abbey for an outing to Pemberheath. Once again Sebastian pleaded with her to remain, and once again Abbey blithely ignored him.

“There is an old priory there I should very much like to see. Do you know that Simon de Montfort spent a fortnight there?” she asked him, her enthusiasm infectious.

“Yes, madam, I am aware of that. I am quite certain the priory will still be standing when Lord Darfield returns. Please, could your visit not wait until then?”

“Really, Sebastian, is he such an ogre he would deny me a simple excursion to a
priory
?” she asked as she smoothed her hair.

“Certainly not!” Sebastian had answered too quickly.

“There you have it, then. I shall return before nightfall, and there will be no harm done, I promise you,” she said cheerfully, and once again turned on her heel and marched out the door, pretending not to hear his blustering objection.

Several hours later and well after nightfall, an exhausted Abbey returned and patiently explained the axle grease on her gown to a stunned Sebastian. The Haversham carriage had encountered a wagon with a broken wheel carrying a rather large family. As there had been several small children in the party, they could not very well leave them to wait for assistance. The Havershams had asked their driver and coachmen to help lift the wagon onto a stump so that the wheel could be reattached. But they had not had enough strength. Abbey reported, and she had offered to lend a hand. After some wrangling, they had managed to reattach the wheel. Abbey’s reward had been an ale that the stranded family gratefully shared with the Haversham party. She confessed that both she
and
the elderly Lady Haversham, who had held the team of mules during the repair, found the homemade brew much to their liking.

As Abbey wearily climbed the stairs to her room, Sebastian felt as if he might faint for the first time in his life. He hoped desperately that Lord Darfield would return before something awful happened to shame him any more than what had already transpired.

It was late in the evening, two weeks after his departure from Blessing Park, that Michael galloped into Pemberheath and stopped at the local inn to clear the dust from his throat. He entered the common rooms and spoke politely to his tenants as they greeted him with great enthusiasm. He was mildly puzzled; their excitement at seeing him was far greater than it had ever been, and certainly much more than was warranted.
The round innkeeper wiped his hands on his stained apron and quickly poured the ale Michael requested.

“Lord Darfield! It’s been awhile since we had the pleasure of your company,” the fat man rasped, his red face beaming with delight.

Michael nodded curtly as he tossed two coins onto the scarred bar.

“The whole village is talking about your lovely wife, milord. What a beauty!” the innkeeper continued.

Michael stopped his tankard midway to his lips and slid his gaze to the man. “My wife?” he asked quietly.

“Lady Darfield! Oh, what a
pleasure
she is, my lord. The lads are
still
talking about the game!” the innkeeper said with a happy shake of his head.

Michael slowly lowered the tankard. “
What
game?”

“Darts. A particular forte of hers, I am sure you’d agree. After the first night she was here, the lads, you know—they had to see if it was true talent or just luck. You never seen anything like it, the way she marched right up to the line and hit the king’s eye without nary a blink! When she came back, the lads wouldn’t leave ’er be till she agreed to a rematch. She’d’ve won it too, had Lindsay not hit the king’s eye at the very end,” he remarked jovially.

Michael could not believe what he had just heard; there had to be some mistake. A horrible mistake. “Are you saying my wife was in here playing darts?” he asked evenly.

The innkeeper’s perpetual grin faded. “She
was
in the company of Lord Haversham, milord,” he replied indignantly.

“The Havershams? Here?”
Michael choked. The innkeeper frowned and lifted his double chin.

“
Aye
, the Havershams. They have been here before, my lord,” he said haughtily.

Michael could not believe it. He had not spent years of his life restoring the family name only to have the little hellion destroy it by cavorting with seamen and playing barroom games. He did not know whom he would throttle first: Sebastian, to whom he had given strict instructions to mind Abbey at all times, or the Havershams, for bringing her to
Pemberheath. Or that little hellion Abbey, his
pleasure
of a wife whose
forte
was darts! He downed the ale and left the inn without another word, ignoring the disgruntled look of the innkeeper.

He ruthlessly pushed his mount Samson toward Blessing Park, hardly able to contain his anger. He had left the morning after his wedding night because he had tossed and turned, thinking of the incredibly beautiful woman just on the other side of the door—crying. The taste of her, the feel of her in his arms had not dissipated, and it had alarmed him. But he was a fool to have left, for the little hellion could not be trusted! In the two weeks he had been gone, he had gained control of himself—with some difficulty—and was prepared to face her again. He was so much in control of his unusually unsettled emotions that he was ready for a verbal pummeling for having left her. The tables had certainly turned. Now
he
was going to give
her
a verbal pummeling for having spent time in an inn like a common wench,
throwing darts
.

As he galloped up the long drive, he was relieved to see only a few lights. If most of the servants had retired for the evening, he could throttle her without interruption. He vaulted off his horse, ignoring the groom who scrambled to meet him. He marched inside and tossed his hat, gloves, and riding crop to a footman, barely nodding in response to his polite greeting. Without a word, he walked swiftly to the green drawing room and threw open the door.

Inside, Sebastian sat with his head in his hands.

“Where is she?” he asked bluntly. Sebastian looked up and grimaced.

“Good evening, my lord. So good to have you back—”

“Where is she, Sebastian?”

“In her sitting room, my lord.”

Michael regarded his secretary with such a scathing look that Sebastian winced. “I know I was quite clear in my desire to keep her at Blessing Park until my return, so I am sure you have a perfectly reasonable explanation for why she has been cavorting about Pemberheath with the Havershams, haven’t you, Sebastian?”