Julia London (48 page)

Abbey remained at the ruins long after Galen left. It was all so confusing! For the last few weeks, she had been set upon by a sadness she could not quell. Something had died inside her, something she was not sure she wanted to resurrect. Something she was not sure she was capable of resurrecting.

It had been so hard. Michael seemed to be everywhere she was, albeit at a quiet distance. A part of her despised him, but another part loved him deeply. It was impossible not to love him. Try as she might, she was losing the battle to push her feelings for him down to the most remote corner of her soul. He had betrayed her and had refused to trust her when she needed him to trust her most. But on this cloudless day she could not suppress the nagging feeling that Galen was right. Michael had been hurt so many times before, why wouldn’t he believe this to be another attempt to defraud or humiliate him?

“Oh, God.” She sighed. The truth was that she
did
keep Galen from Michael. Perhaps the time had come for her to take responsibility for her part in what had happened.

Michael was startled by her appearance in the dining room that evening. She was a vision in a velvet and chiffon gown of midnight blue, adorned with small crystal beads that fractured the light when she moved. Her dark mahogany hair was pulled back and hung in great, silken waves down her back. She looked as beautiful as he ever remembered.

“I’m glad you decided to join us. Would you like a drink?” he heard himself say. Abbey smiled demurely, unbalancing him. He did not expect a smile. No, that was about the last thing he expected.

“A vodka, please,” she said softly. From across the room, Sam was staring at her over his Madeira and seemed as stunned as Michael felt. Michael inclined his head toward Anderson, who quietly poured the drink and handed it to him. His legs felt like wood as he walked toward her and handed her the glass.

“Thank you,” she said shyly. She glanced up at him through her long lashes and blushed slightly. Michael was so unsettled by the change in her mien that he congratulated himself on having handed her the vodka without dropping it.

“Your walk seems to have done you good,” he said, for lack of anything else.

She smiled her perfectly brilliant smile and Michael’s stomach dropped to his toes. “It was really quite nice, my lord. I believe I have sorted everything out,” she answered.

Michael swallowed; he had no idea what to make of that or her sudden serenity.

“I was just telling Michael that the
La Belle
is in port at Brighton. Her maiden voyage was far more successful than we hoped; she made record time to the Mediterranean and back,” Sam remarked from across the room. “And another of our newest ships, the
St. Lucie
, is anchored at Portsmouth.”

Abbey turned politely toward Sam and glided across the room, sitting daintily on the settee across from him. It was several moments before Michael was able to move to a seat near the hearth.

“I would very much like to see them,” she remarked casually.

Michael’s brows rose slightly as he looked at Sam. He could not help it; he was immediately suspicious. She wanted to see his ships? Did she want passage to America? To the continent? Anywhere but Blessing Park?

“Planning a voyage?” he asked with more sarcasm than he intended.

She turned a surprised smile to him. “Well, no. I would rather like to see one of the new designs. I have never seen one,” she said, then delicately sipped her vodka.

Michael exchanged a wary glance with Sam; he was not convinced that she had not contrived some scheme to escape him, and the thought of it made his heart ache. He had known all along that if she never forgave him, if she despised him as much as it seemed, then naturally he would let her go.

Even if it killed him.

“If you want to go, I will take you,” he blurted without thinking. He felt Sam’s gaze on him, but he could not take his eyes from Abbey.

Her brows arched above her vivid violet eyes. “Are you planning a voyage?” she asked innocently.

Michael tossed his whiskey down his throat before answering. “Perhaps. I have not as yet decided.”

Abbey looked at her drink. “If I were to sail now, I think I should very much like to see the Mediterranean again,” she remarked.

Ah, here it was. She had a destination in mind, a destination that would take her far away from him. The Mediterranean was a good choice, he thought wryly. He could not hound her there, as he might be able to do if she chose the continent, or even America.

“What of Harry?” he asked, his mind racing ahead, wondering if she would leave any part of her behind. Abbey exchanged a puzzled look with Sam.

“I doubt the dog is suited for sailing.” She smiled. Michael nodded knowingly. It did not surprise him. She did not want anything to remind her of him, not even her dog.

“Is there any other place to which you would like to sail?” he asked. He waited for her to request passage to America, to admit her true desire to leave him, when a commotion in the drive caught their attention.

Sam rose to his feet and went to one of windows that looked out over the long, circular drive. He smiled at Michael.

“Your wayward secretary has returned,” he said, and placing his drink on a table, started for the door.

Michael groaned softly. Abbey stood, apparently intending to go after Sam. “Abbey, wait.”

She glanced expectantly over her shoulder; Michael rose slowly, his gaze riveted on hers. He knew what she wanted, and he would not hold her against her will. He would even see her home. But she would not go without knowing that it would kill him to let her go, and he would never stop loving her.

“If you want to go to America, I will take you—”

A clamor in the foyer interrupted him. Puzzled, Abbey looked at the door.

“Where is she? Where is my niece?” a woman’s voice bellowed. Abbey gasped and swung around, staring at Michael in disbelief.

“Aunt Nan?” she whispered incredibly.

“I believe Miss Victoria Taylor and Virginia, as well,” he said with exasperation.

Astonished, Abbey continued to stare at him, then slowly, a brilliant smile spread across her face, wrinkling the corner of her eyes.

“Did you …?”

“I invited them, yes, if that is what you mean.”

“But how?”

“Sebastian and the
St. Lucie
,” he said, irritated at their untimely arrival and the fact that
they
could bring such a smile to her face.

“Where is she?”
Nan bellowed again.

Abbey gleefully clasped her hands together and started for Michael. For a moment, he thought she would fling herself into his arms, but she stopped short of embracing him. The
way she was looking at him, the trembling smile on her lips …

She moved as if she meant to touch him, and Michael instinctively began to reach for her, but Nan’s voice rang through the foyer again.

“Thank you! Oh, Michael,
thank you
!” she cried, and pivoted, quickly leaving the room.

Frustrated and confused, Michael stood unmoving. Had he imagined the look in her eye? Had she wanted to touch him? A gay chorus emanated from the foyer as the Americans greeted Abbey. Shaking his head, Michael reluctantly went to meet his guests.

Bedlam greeted him in the foyer. Looking very drawn, Sebastian was trying to push his way through the bevy of women and servants. The woman Michael presumed to be Aunt Nan was hugging the life from Abbey. Nan, tall, slender, and handsome, her silver hair bound simply at her nape, was prattling about how worried she had been when she had learned of the unfortunate accident. One of the younger women was turning slowly in the middle of the marble-tiled foyer, staring in awe at the walls and ceiling. She was a very pretty young woman with dark hair and green eyes, and her hair was fashioned in the unusual style that Abbey favored. She wore a dark yellow traveling gown that made her skin glow.

The other young woman was as blond as her sister was dark. She, too, was wearing the same unusual hairstyle and a light-blue gown of a fashion like her sister. She was chattering at Sam about her trip. Michael caught Sam’s eye and smiled when the young woman reported she had been sick four times, once over the railing in full view of the deckhands. Always the gentleman, Sam stood and listened with a polite smile.

“My lord, I must tell you we encountered the Havershams in Pemberheath. Aunt Nan,” Sebastian said with weary sarcasm, “has invited them to dine this evening.”

Michael smiled at Sebastian’s harried expression. His secretary looked as if he might drop at any moment.

“I will instruct Jones to expect five guests for supper.” He looked at his secretary, who, with the dust of the trip from Portsmouth on him, looked as tired as Michael had ever seen him. “I trust your voyage was uneventful?” he asked dryly.

Sebastian rolled his eyes heavenward. “I hope, my lord, that duty never calls me thus again,” he said solemnly. “If I may, I would take my leave and find a much-needed bath.” Michael nodded and watched Sebastian limp toward the marble staircase, an affliction, he noted, his secretary had not left England with.

“Is that him?” Nan demanded from the door. With an arm around Abbey’s shoulder, she marched toward Michael, dragging her niece along. “Lord Darfield, I presume?” she asked, squinting over the rims of her dust-covered spectacles.

“At your service, madam,” he said, bowing low.

“Then point me toward a stout ale, sir. Not only has the journey parched me right well, your man drives as if we were being chased by a pack of Indians! My, my, you are a handsome devil, aren’t you? Prettier than your sketches, I’d say.”

“My sketches?”

“Mama, he doesn’t know about the sketches! Uncle had them made and sent to Abbey,” the blond girl announced.

“You must be Miss Victoria,” Michael said, and bowed again.

“Oh, no.” She giggled. “I am
Virginia.
”

“The modiste?”

She laughed lightly. “The milliner,” she corrected with a pleased grin, and curtsied properly.

“
I
am Victoria,” the other one said, and curtsied identically. “Oh, Abbey, he is much more handsome than we thought, isn’t he?”

Still locked in her aunt’s embrace. Abbey blushed furiously.

“I gather you were quite surprised when you saw my Abbey all grown up, weren’t you, young man?” Nan demanded, her head cocked to one side as she appraised him.

“I was, indeed, madam.”

“I predicted that you could not possibly have expected her
to turn out as well as she did, and naturally I was right. What about that ale? A woman could die of thirst in Britain!” Nan said, and, following Michael’s gesture, began to pull Abbey along with her down the hall.

“Oh, Mama, did you ever imagine such finery? He must be worth
millions
, don’t you think?”

“Really, Ginny, how vulgar. We’ll ask Abbey later,” Victoria chided her, and the two young women fell in behind Abbey and her aunt. For the first time, Michael noticed Jones hovering near the door with a stricken look on his face.

“Chin up, Jones. The Havershams will be along directly,” Michael called to his stalwart butler. Jones could hardly nod as he stumbled toward the back of the house.

Sam was all smiles as he strolled to Michael’s side. “I believe we have just seen what happens when four women are left to live alone without a man to temper them,” he remarked.

“I doubt,” Michael said dryly, “that God could temper those women.”

The ladies were already in the drawing room, closely examining the furniture and fixtures, all chattering at once. Abbey was trying to explain a portrait, but Virginia was talking over her, swearing that the man in the portrait looked like a drawing of a Swedish prince she had once seen. Nan, with an ale in her hand, peered at a very large and very expensive crystal clock. Anderson was handing Virginia a Madeira, and Victoria announced her preference for a whiskey. At least, Michael thought, Abbey came by her peculiar habit honestly. A footman in the far corner of the room was as white as a ghost.

“All right, girls. There shall be plenty of time to examine the house. I want to hear all about Abbey’s new life,” Nan announced, and grabbing Abbey’s hand, dragged her to the settee and forced her down with a determined push on her shoulder.

Virginia and Victoria immediately took a seat on either side
of Abbey. Nan looked expectantly at her niece. “Well, then? Go on, dear.”

“I—I hardly know where to start!” Abbey exclaimed.

“With your wedding!” Virginia all but shouted. “Was it a grand affair? How many people attended? Did you wear the gown Tori made?”

“Was it in a large church? You hardly mentioned it in your letters,” Victoria added.

Sam joined Michael, who, with one arm propped on the mantel, was observing the scene with surprised amusement.

“Not precisely,” Abbey began, obviously uncomfortable.

“I’m afraid I am to blame for a rather small wedding,” Michael interjected. Abbey jerked her gaze to him, plainly fearing he would tell the truth. He smiled reassuringly.

“You see, Abbey came later than expected. I was due in Brighton—”

“Brighton? Oh, I’ve read all about Brighton,” Virginia exclaimed, and was about to carry on when Aunt Nan slapped her on the thigh to silence her.

“I was due in Brighton, and I thought it highly improper for Abbey to remain under my roof without proper chaperone, so we married immediately.”

Abbey smiled gratefully.

“Oh, how very
romantic
,” Victoria sighed.

“You see, Abbey? I told you he’d be waiting for you. I knew he’d rush you right to the altar, didn’t I say as much?” Nan said triumphantly.

“Yes, Aunt Nan.” Abbey nodded, glancing nervously at Michael with a faint smile on her lips.

“And then?” Virginia asked.

“And then?”

“Your wedding trip! Where did you go, to London?”

Abbey gripped the lap of her gown in a gesture Michael had come to understand was an unconscious display of nerves. “Well, not at first. Why go to London when one has a home as lovely as Blessing Park?”