The Secret Rose (10 page)

A dark traveling cloak covered her simple mourner’s weeds. She’d fastened the cloak beneath her chin with a large jeweled brooch, the emerald stones in the pin bringing out the brilliant green of her eyes in startling clarity. An overly plain bonnet of black felt sat upon her head, the wide, black velvet ties acting as a muffler, which she wound around her neck to keep her warm.

With slow, deliberate movements, she pulled the ties free and loosened the knot beneath her chin. Long curling strands of coppery tendrils came loose and framed her face in picturesque splendor. Stella rushed to take her bonnet and cloak.

A heavy weight settled low in his stomach, warming his insides like molten lava seeping into every crevice. How could Stephen have walked away from her?

Ethan focused on the rosy glow to her cheeks, made even more vibrant from traveling in the cold, then noticed her red-rimmed eyes still puffy and swollen. “Where have you been?”

She didn’t flinch. “I had some business to take care of before we left.”

“At this hour?” He couldn’t keep the surprise from his voice.

“Yes. I was not sure when we would be back, and this could not wait.”

She walked through the room to the sideboard filled with breakfast dishes. “I know there are certain details we must attend to when we reach London. Would you like to discuss some of those now?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. I know we must meet with Sydney to have the papers drawn up that will transfer Fallen Oaks to me and my ships to you. Once that is done, I will introduce you to Captain Parker and see that he is assigned a position, as my father stipulated in his will.”

She returned to the table and sat in a chair opposite him. There was hardly enough food on her plate to keep a bird alive.

“I am certain we will have to face Society—and your mother—at one point or another to inform them of our plans and face their shock and insinuations. I have little choice but to…
enjoy
London—at least until our business is completed.”

“Have you included wedding plans in the
business
that needs to be taken care of?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “If there is time.”

“Your enthusiasm is…overwhelming. With the anticipation of so many enjoyable adventures, we are guaranteed to have a wonderful time in London.”

“It is the way things must be. I know there is no way to avoid these pleasantries in order to be permitted to return to Fallen Oaks.”

“Where you intend to hide away for the rest of your life?”

“Where I intend to live my life in peace and solitude.”

“And what about me?”

“You are welcome to…visit any time you are in England.”

Ethan flashed her a hard look, intending to show her his displeasure. She was sorely mistaken if that’s the way she thought their marriage would be.

She picked up her fork and slid some eggs around on her plate.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

Her fork halted in midair, her trembling noticeable. She lowered her eyelids. “I’m fine. I—I’m sorry I disturbed your sleep last night.”

Ethan took a sip of the coffee Palmsworth had just refilled, then placed his cup back on its saucer. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“I’ll not let you shut me out forever, Abby.”

She lifted her chin and stared at him. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You know bloody well what I mean, and I won’t allow it. You’re building a wall between us. It’s impossible to start a marriage with something of such magnitude in the way.”

She shoved a small piece of meat from one side of her plate to the other as she ignored answering him.

Ethan leaned back in his chair and studied her at great length. She’d been pale when she returned from wherever she’d been, but not nearly so pale as she was now. He picked up the cup and took another swallow of the dark, rich coffee. “I would like to know where you were just now and who you went to see. I do not like secrets.”

She opened her mouth to say something, then halted. Her gaze hardened, but not before he noticed a hint of fear in her eyes.

“In time you’ll learn to trust me, Abby. Stephen and I may be bound by the same blood, but that is the only similarity between us.”

She stared at him, and for a moment he saw the determined look in her eyes weaken. For a moment he thought he saw a glimmer of softness. Then it was gone.

She breathed a heavy sigh that nearly cried out in pain, then lifted her fork again and shoved the food around on her plate with no more interest in eating than she’d shown before.

The air hung heavily between them as they ate in silence. He was thankful when Palmsworth entered the room. “George said the carriage is loaded and ready to depart.”

“Good.” Ethan shoved his plate away and sat forward in his chair. “Have Bundy and George leave as soon as possible. I want everything ready at your mistress’s town house when we arrive later. Tell them we should be there before dark. You may go with us, Palmsworth.”

Abigail dropped her fork with a loud clatter, then cast the butler an open look of panic.

“No. Palmsworth needs to stay here. Bundy may take us, and Freddie may go with George.”

The determined look on her face gave him cause for thought. Whatever the reason, it was very important to her.

“You are sure you do not want Palmsworth in London with you?”

“No. He is needed here. Please, I will have Stella. And there is a staff in London.”

He focused for a long time on her desperate look. “Very well. Palmsworth will stay here.” He turned to Palmsworth. “Bundy may drive us. Have George and Freddie leave with the first carriage as soon as possible.”

“Yes, sir.” Palmsworth gave him a respectful bow and left the room.

“Another secret, Abby?”

She dropped her chin, the guilty look on her face plain for him to see.

“Hopefully, you can rest on our way to London.” He looked at the dark circles forming beneath her eyes and the pale complexion of her face. “I would like to leave before long.”

“I’ll be ready, sir.” She rose. “I would like a moment to visit my father’s grave before we go.”

“Of course. And your mother’s, too,” he said, knowing it had not been that long since she’d lost her mother.

What little color she had left on her cheeks drained, but there remained an empty look in her eyes. Without a word, she left the room.

Ethan watched her take the stairs slowly, her grip on the polished oak banister clasped with white-knuckled desperation.

What could have happened to cause someone so young and with so much of her life ahead of her to have so many secrets?

He would not rest until he had an answer.

. . .

Abigail shifted her shoulder to another spot inside the carriage and struggled to find a comfortable position in which to sit. She was so tired her mind had ceased thinking long ago. Every muscle in her body ached from the millions of ruts Bundy unintentionally managed to hit. And the journey was worse now. Ethan had tied his mount to the back of the carriage and was sitting on the seat opposite her and Stella.

She knew it was not so, but even with her eyes closed, he seemed to take up every empty inch of the carriage. His broad shoulders seemed to span at least half the width inside, and his long, muscular legs angled perilously close to hers. Every time he shifted against the squabs, she felt his touch—the heat of his knees or ankles or soft leather boots—which left a river of fire that blazed through every layer of her petticoats until it reached her skin.

She refused to look at him, not wanting to see if he watched her. Not wanting to remember how safe and secure she’d felt when he’d comforted her in the night. She did not want to get used to him being there. Marriage to him was an impossibility, and if she let herself care for him, she would be even more alone when she walked away. Stephen had taught her a very painful lesson, but it was one she would never forget. She would never give her heart away only to have it shattered and broken.

She shifted again in the corner, inching as far away from him as she could.

“Here.” He exchanged places with Stella and sat down beside her. “Lean your head against my shoulder and try to get some sleep.”

Abigail sat up with a start. Her eyes popped open to find him but a few inches from her.

“Don’t worry, Abigail. Stella is here to guard you.”

“I’m fine where I am.” She slid closer to the carriage door.

“No, you’re not. You’re as restless as a dog with an itch, and you haven’t slept a minute since we left Fallen Oaks.”

She lifted her brows and tried to keep from laughing at him.
A dog with an itch. How ridiculous.
“I’m not tired.” She locked her hands in her lap with as much an air of propriety as she could muster.

He laughed. Not a shallow, empty laugh, but a full, rich sound that sent fiery shivers racing along her limbs.

“You’re so tired, you look like the walking dead. Doesn’t she, Stella?”

Stella clamped her hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. “You do look a might weary, miss,” she answered, then took out some embroidery to keep herself occupied. The maid gave her a sympathetic look before she concentrated on her handiwork.

“How descriptive,” Abigail said, pulling the edge of her skirt from beneath his leg. He helped her shift the volumes of fabric that was the fashion, then slid closer, as if she’d moved her skirt to make more room for him.

“Have you missed town life?” he asked, shifting on the seat, which only served to make his nearness more confining.

She turned to look out the window, but his arm pressed against her side. A river of fire burned a path to the tips of her toes.

“Not necessarily.” She turned to look straight ahead. That position held the least threat. “I’ve never enjoyed the rounds of parties and teas. I fear I have too much of my father in me. He wasn’t fond of the social life either.”

“What about your mother?”

“She thrived on it. She hated the isolation at Fallen Oaks and was her happiest in London during the height of the Season.”

“My mother feels the same.”

“And you?”

“I’m afraid I’m just like you. I hate the feigned camaraderie, the fake adherence to social rules that gives free rein to all manner of indiscretions. That’s why I spend so little time in London. I’m used to a life much different.”

She leaned back in the seat, relaxing against him just a little. Surely that would not hurt. “What is your plantation like?”

She heard a deep sigh and knew without looking that he’d smiled. “It’s a paradise, lush and green and beautiful, with a peacefulness I can’t describe. The sunsets are more gorgeous than anywhere on earth, and the sunrises so beautiful you swear God created special colors that He only uses there each morning. It’s hard to describe a life so perfect: tropical breezes that warm you year-round, and flowers so alive with color you’d swear they could talk to you.”

Abigail was enthralled by his vivid descriptions. She fought the urge to travel there to see such wonders. Even Stella held her needle still to listen, a faraway look of fascination in her eyes.

“We grow spices on my plantation and fruits unlike anything you have ever seen or tasted. It’s a place different from anywhere else on earth. I truly miss it when I’m gone.”

“Do you ship spices, then?”

“Partly. I’ve spent the last few years selling anything to the colonies I can get my hands on. Primarily to the Southern states.”

She sat straight. “You are a blockade runner?”

He smiled at her. “I guess that is what you could call me. Does that disturb you?”

“No, but isn’t it dangerous?”

“Not if you’re careful.” He flashed her a smile that caused her heart to stutter. “And I’m always careful.”

“Why do you do it?”

“For the money. There’s a great deal of profit to be made by blockade running right now. One of the North’s strategies is to starve out the South. The Southerners are desperate and willing to pay a decent high price for anything that can be smuggled in to them.”

“And your cargo allows people to eat.”

“I would not be honest if I didn’t admit it bothers me to know people have nothing to eat when food is so plentiful.”

Abigail could imagine him daring Northern warships to stop him, just as she could imagine him captaining his own ship, slicing through the storms and the waves, with the wind whipping through his hair and the sun beating against his skin.

She closed her eyes to stop such thoughts, then stifled another yawn. Stella already leaned against the corner with her head dropped to her chest and her eyes closed. The carriage was warm with him sitting beside her. Abigail yawned again. She’d had to get up so early to visit Mary Rose one last time before they left. Her lack of sleep was finally catching up with her.

“I cannot imagine such a war,” she said on a sigh. “It must be terrible there. They are all Americans, some of them even related.”

He shifted to make a more comfortable spot for her to lean against. The temptation was too great for her to resist taking modest advantage of it.

“I know. It’s not easy on either side. The North sees cutting off the South as the answer to ending a war that is killing their young men by the thousands. The South sees the war as an end to a way of life they’ve cherished for generations.”

“The elimination of slavery?”

“Yes.”

“Have you seen the slaves in the South?”

There was a noticeable pause before he answered. “Yes.”

“What is slavery like?”

“I’m not sure I can answer that. I don’t think anyone can who has not lived surrounded by slavery.”

She let herself sink more heavily against him and gave up her fight to stay awake. “I’ve heard there are antislavery sympathizers who sneak into Southern harbors in the dark of night and smuggle whole families of slaves out of the South and take them to Canada so they can be free.”

His only answer was an indiscernible sigh barely loud enough to be heard. If he said anything more, it was lost on her.

Sometime just before she fell into a deep sleep, she felt his arm wrap around her. He brought her toward him.