Julia London (40 page)

“Lord Darfield sulks about the house and never says a word to anyone, except
yes
, and
no
, and
thank you, that will be all
,” Sarah mimicked. Abbey smiled faintly as she imagined the servants gathered in the kitchens, mimicking the Devil of Darfield’s determined stride and deep voice. She herself would never forget the sound of his voice the first time she had met him, deep and sure … and cold. “Then Wilson overheard us in the kitchen yesterday, and he said to quit prattling, that the truth of the matter was that some men were always trying to extort money from the marquis—”

Before Abbey could say anything about that stunning comment Sarah smiled and patted her shoulder. “It’s just idle gossip, mum. If you ask me, they ought to be more worried that the marquis is so obsessed with those dolls—”

“The dolls?”

“He keeps them stashed away in the study. This afternoon he bade me bring them into the main drawing room. He gave me the key to his desk and told me to look in the bottom drawer. There was nothing there save some cuff links and a doll, so I brought them. It was all very odd, I thought, and he already had a doll with him.”

Abbey shook her head in confusion. “What do you mean, he already had a doll with him?”

“Just that. He was holding another doll when he sent me to get the other things. It looked like the one I brought him, but it was different,” Sarah explained casually as she finished Abbey’s hair and moved to a wardrobe.

“Different?”
Abbey asked breathlessly.

Sarah shrugged as she dug through a polished walnut box for earrings. “Lord Darfield’s doll had the same face as the other, but his was dressed as a pirate. I couldn’t imagine what two grown men were doing with those dolls—”

“My God!”
Abbey fairly shrieked, and jumped to her feet.

Startled, Sarah dropped the earrings she had selected. “What?! What is it?”

Abbey did not answer but began to pace the small sitting room. A pirate doll!
The
pirate doll! A myriad of images suddenly invaded her consciousness. Her, standing in a small skiff headed for shore, shouting at her father for having put her off the boat. Papa, standing at the railing, waving cheerfully at her. And
Michael
, appearing on deck with the doll hanging from one hand. The doll he had decapitated. And it was
dressed like a pirate!
Galen’s doll, she realized was a replica, a fake …

Abbey fell heavily into a chair, disbelieving her own thoughts. “He knows, Sarah! He
knows!
Oh dear God, he
knows!
” Abbey cried.

“Knows
what?
” Sarah gasped with alarm.

“He knows Galen is lying! Oh, God, Galen is lying, and Michael knows it because he had the doll! Don’t you see?
He
had it all this time! He knows the other one is a fake! He knows Galen gave me an
imitation …
”

Her voice trailed off as she realized what she was saying. Everything was suddenly beginning to make sense, sickening sense. Suspicions about Galen now flitted rapidly through her mind. From the moment she had stumbled on him in Pemberheath, he had avoided meeting Michael. He had been mysterious about his business deal. He had surprised her with trinkets from her past and a second will. He did not want to find Mr. Strait, the one man who could clarify everything. She buried her face in her hands. Actions that had seemed rather innocent at the time now seemed to point to evasion, treachery, and deceit.

“My Lady, what is wrong?” Sarah cried with alarm.

“Sarah, I had
one
doll as a girl. Only
one
! And the summer we were on Papa’s ship, Michael took it from me and tore its head from its body!”

“My goodness, he did
what
?”

“But he repaired it,” Abbey rushed on, “and he dressed it up as a pirate, because
I
used to dress as a pirate! He was going to give it to me, but he never got the chance because Papa put me off the ship and sent me to school in the company of Mr. Strait!” Abbey paused. Mr. Strait was also one of
a very few who could know what her doll looked like. Could the solicitor also be involved? Dear God, was everyone she had ever known determined to defraud Michael? But why? How? Abbey tapped a finger against her lips, staring blindly at the carpet.

“Mr. Strait could be involved. Galen, oh, how could he do this? It doesn’t matter, he must confess. He must tell Michael everything,” she whispered. Why had she not remembered this before? Why hadn’t Michael told her he still had the doll? Did he want to be rid of her so badly that he had withheld information that would have exonerated her?

Abbey jumped to her feet and rushed to a writing table, where she quickly withdrew a sheet of parchment. “Sarah, you must get this note to my cousin, Galen Carrey,” she said quietly as she wrote. “Jones should know where he can be found.”

Sarah took an unconscious step backward as Abbey dripped candle wax on the missive asking Galen to meet her at the Wilmington Ball on a matter of grave urgency.

“I don’t know, mum. The marquis said to tell him if you required messages to be delivered,” she said unevenly.

Abbey jerked a heated gaze to her as she waved the missive in the air to dry the seal. “Did he?” she snapped angrily. “I don’t care! I am begging you, Sarah, please take this to my cousin. It is extremely important, and you must not tell Lord Darfield.” Satisfied the seal was dry, Abbey stood and marched to where the maid stood, grabbed her hand, and slapped the note into her palm.

“Shouldn’t you tell Lord Darfield?” Sarah cried. “He was quite clear—”

“Sarah, it is imperative that I speak with my cousin privately! Give me your word you will not tell Lord Darfield!”

“But, my lady, if your cousin did something wrong, shouldn’t the marquis know?” Sarah said, pleading.

Abbey hands flew instinctively to her abdomen. “I am begging you, as my friend, to do this,” she said weakly, annoyed that tears were beginning to fill her eyes. “You don’t understand, he won’t accept …”

Sarah’s gaze flicked to her hands on her abdomen, then back to Abbey’s misty eyes.

Abbey took a deep breath. “I have to convince Galen to confess what he has done to Michael. It is my only hope,” she murmured through her tears. She realized she must seem wildly out of control to Sarah; the poor girl had no idea what she was talking about. But Galen
had
to confess. He had to tell Michael everything so he would know she was not involved, had never been involved.

“Just do it, Sarah!” she suddenly shouted, hearing the edge of hysteria that had crept into her voice.

Sarah’s face crumbled with fear, and she walked quickly to the door. “Yes, my lady,” she murmured, suddenly eager to escape her raving mistress.

Sarah prided herself on being always cheerful and always obedient. Today was no different, with one exception. She sent a boy to her mistress’s cousin with the note before she went in search of the marquis. She might lose her post, but she had seen the wild look in Lady Darfield’s eyes, and it scared her. She had to do the right thing.

Michael helped himself to another whiskey and continued pacing. Galen Carrey had not been the least bit perturbed when he had denied his claim. Obviously Carrey had expected that, and oddly, he did not argue his case, as Michael had anticipated. When Michael demanded to know what had become of Mr. Strait, and why it was Routier had been one of the last to see him, Galen had not answered. He had remained silent throughout their encounter, and at the end, had asked quietly after Abbey. Michael had refrained from breaking his neck and had instead, told the scoundrel he would rot in hell before he would know. Galen had shrugged and left.

Michael lifted his head from his brooding when he heard the rap on the door. “Come,” he said with a growl.

Sarah stepped through the door, scowling mightily.

With an impatient sigh, Michael asked, “What is it, Sarah?”

Uncharacteristically, Sarah raised her chin. “I have something to say, my lord,” she said, and nervously cleared her throat.

Michael sighed and thrust a hand through his hair. “What is it?”

“I have been in your household since I was but a girl, my lord, and I never believed any of the things I heard about you, not a one,” she began. Michael rolled his eyes; he should hardly be surprised that the staff would discuss the rift between him and Abbey.

“I shall forgive your breach of conduct—”

“I still do not believe them,” she said. Michael stopped and quirked a brow in question. “No, my lord, I don’t. Not even after the dolls and my lady’s claims that you think her cousin is a fraud.”

“The dolls?” Michael asked, his brows sinking into a scowl.

The maid lifted her chin a little higher. “
I
told her about the dolls, and good heavens, she jumped up and started shouting that you knew it was lie and for the life of her couldn’t understand why you didn’t tell her, and that Mr. Carry had lied, and Mr. Strait was involved—”

“Sarah, slow down!” Michael said, much more calmly than he felt, and motioned for her to sit in one of the chairs facing the desk. Sarah hesitated for a moment, then very stiffly took a seat. Michael waited for her to arrange her skirts and place her hands primly in her lap.

“Now, start from the beginning,” he said, and listened in quiet amazement as Sarah related her earlier encounter with Abbey. That damned doll! She had remembered it after all.

“She’ll never speak to me again, my lord, but I thought about it, and I don’t think it’s right, because I’ve seen you with Lady Darfield, and it’s rather obvious you love her, and you’ve moped about the last several days, and when my lady said you
knew
, well, I couldn’t think of any other explanation. She would realize it, too, if she wasn’t so emotional. She can’t
think straight, she is so wrought up. I guess I should be grateful that she at least sent a note and didn’t run off to confront Mr. Carrey because she was afraid for her … self,” Sarah muttered angrily.

“Confront Mr. Carrey?” Michael echoed, confused. “Sarah, has she something to fear from him? Why is she afraid for herself?” he prodded, ignoring for the moment the fact that Abbey obviously knew Galen was a fraud.

“I cannot tell you,” Sarah said softly.

Michael scowled and shifted his weight against the desk. He had little patience for a reticent maid. “Why not? You have told me every other thing,” he asked calmly.

Sarah averted her eyes and pretended to be studying the embroidery in the arm of the chair.

“Sarah?” Michael coaxed, working to keep a hold on his patience.

“It’s not my place to tell you,” she muttered.

“Sarah.”
It was not a request, it was a command.

Sarah’s cheeks flushed. “She’ll never speak to me again!”

“If there is something concerning Lady Darfield’s welfare, you must tell me,” he said, his patience quickly wearing thin.

“It’s just that she’s not herself! She is so emotional these days on account she’s carrying,” Sarah blurted without realizing what she had said. It hit her immediately, and her eyes flew wide with horror.

Dumbstruck, Michael gaped at her. “What did you say?”

Sarah wailed with despair. Michael lurched across the gap between them and grabbed her by the elbows, dragging her roughly to her feet.

“Is she with child?” he demanded in a threatening voice. Terrified, Sarah could only nod. Michael slowly released her. He felt something drain rapidly from him, only to be filled with another, stronger emotion that surged up in its place. He turned abruptly to the desk and braced himself against it, his mind quickly calculating the weeks.
She was carrying his child
. It was his, it had to be, there could not have been sufficient opportunity for it to be otherwise. It was more than
he could fathom. Strong, tumultuous emotions raged within him. God in heaven, she was carrying
his
child.

“You have done the right thing, Sarah,” he ground out, ignoring her wailing. “That will be all.” He placed his arms on the desk and leaned into them.

“My lord—”

“Go!”
he shouted. He heard Sarah scurry across the carpet and shut the door behind her.

He could not fully absorb it. A child. His child. The very suggestion had a powerful effect on him that he could not begin to understand or digest. A peculiar surge of pride washed over him.

And love.

Lord, but he had never wanted her more than he did at this very moment. He would deal with their situation later, but for now all he wanted was Abbey, and the consequences be damned. He pushed himself from the desk and marched across the study, flinging the door open with such force that it hit the wall.
“Jones!”
he roared as he made his way to his chamber. He could not wait to hold her in his arms, to lay his hand across her belly and feel the life within her,
his
life. He wanted her in his arms so he could show her what he would never find words to describe.

But Abbey had already left for the evening in the company of the rotund Lady Paddington.

Abbey’s gaze swept the crowd in search of Galen. She had been at the Wilmington Ball for nearly two hours, and still he had not come. She leaned against a pillar with her arms folded across her middle, one slippered foot tapping steadily against the marble tile. She personally would throttle Sarah if she had not delivered the note.

A young fop she recognized as the younger son of the Earl of Whitstone approached her, smiling charmingly. Abbey frowned; the tempo of her tapping foot increased. She was in no mood for idle chatter tonight and had already thanked her lucky stars that the ebullient Lady Paddington was engaged in a fierce war of loo with the other prowlers.

“Good evening, Lady Darfield.” The young man bowed.

“Good evening, sir.”

“I was watching you from across the room. I noticed you had not stood up in some time and thought perchance that might mean there is space on your dance card?” he asked hopefully.

Abbey forced a smile. “Oh! Well, you see, I twisted my
ankle in a turn about the park this morning, and I’m afraid it’s far too tender to contemplate dancing,” she lied sweetly.