forget what had passed for a ceremony last night had ever happened.
Reluctantly
she rose and fished through her things for a plain gown. She was startled
a
moment later when a young woman with blond hair peeking from beneath her maid’s
cap entered. The maid seemed just as surprised, and she hastily curtsied.
“Morning, mum. I didn’t expect you about quite so early. My name is Sarah. Lord
Darfield has instructed me to tend to you,” she said nervously.
Abbey had never had anyone tend her and felt very self-conscious. “Good morning,
Sarah. If you would be so good as to fasten these buttons, then perhaps you
could show me to the breakfast room?‘’ Abbey suggested just as nervously.
“Of course, mum.” Sarah quickly moved to fasten her gown. “You’re younger than I
would have thought, if you don’t mind me saying so, mum. When we heard Lord
Darfield might take a wife, lord, we couldn’t imagine. I never thought him the
marrying type. He has been alone all these years, you know, and he rather
prefers the sea,” Sarah blurted. She patted Abbey’s back to indicate she had
finished.
“Withers, he had me half convinced you’d be rather homely,” she continued as she
moved to the bed to straighten the covers. “He said my lord wouldn’t marry unless it were for money, and it’s only the homely ladies that has the money. I
don’t know why I give Withers one bit of time, to tell you the truth.”
“Withers?” At the same time Abbey wondered what fool would come to such a
ridiculous conclusion, she thought the name sounded very familiar.
“He’s the head gardener, mum.”
Abbey perked up at that. There was nothing she had enjoyed more than tending her
garden in Virginia. “Head gardener? That sounds as if there are more than one.”
“Oh, indeed there are, mum. There are three, and of course the groundsmen.”
“Three?”
“It’s a rather big house, mum, with rather big gardens, but you can’t see them
for all the snow. In the springtime, you’ll have a lovely view from your window.
In the winter, Withers spends his time in the hothouse. I’ll show you if you like.”
“I thought I would breakfast with Lord Darfield,” Abbey said shyly. It would be
best to confront her terrible situation immediately, not spend time exploring an
estate that she intended to leave immediately, no matter how grand.
“Oh, mum, the master is away already. He takes his breakfast very early when he
is in residence; he’s usually gone before the sun is up.” Sarah giggled to herself. “Cook is not very fond of the morning. She is quite beside herself when
he comes. She says eating that early ain’t good for the body.
Been grousing all morning, she has. Wouldn’t have been so bad if the master
hadn’t gotten her up in the middle of the night to show him where the cheese was
kept.“
Abbey missed the reference to Michael’s sleepless night. “Lord Darfield has
departed?”
“An hour ago, mum, with Lord Hunt.”
Abbey was sorely disappointed. She very much needed to get this ugly affair over
and done with. He might have at least mentioned when they would have opportunity
to speak again. That is, if he ever intended to speak to her again. Sarah finished with the bed and straightened up, regarding Abbey closely. “Aye, you
are quite lovely, mum. Won’t Withers be surprised.”
Embarrassed, Abbey shrugged and moved toward the door.
Sarah happily bustled in front of her and opened it. “I’ll unpack your trunks first thing,” she said as she opened the door and gestured for Abbey to precede
her.
The corridor could have doubled as a ballroom, it was so wide. Abbey had not
noticed yesterday that it was much like the ground floor, with small tables and
vases of fresh-cut flowers lining each side. Paintings were also in abundance,
as were artifacts from a more ancient time. Just ahead of her, Sarah pointed to
a large oak door across from the landing.
“That would be your sitting room, mum. And there, that’s the library.”
“The library? I thought it was downstairs.”
“Yes, mum, the main library is downstairs. This is your library.” Abbey gave
Sarah a puzzled look. “The master says you are to have your own rooms.
Your
library doesn’t have many books in it yet, but Sebastian says you may purchase
your own.” Sarah wrinkled her nose and whispered, “The master’s reading tastes
are a bit strong for a lady. Latin and such.”
Abbey’s stomach lurched involuntarily. She should not care; she should be
ecstatic. She did not want to be with him, but it hurt terribly that he had so blatantly planned a separate life for her. He intended her to live on the first floor when he was in residence, and he in his rooms on the ground floor.
“How perfectly arrogant,” she muttered.
Sarah’s pale-blue eyes widened at her remark. “I beg your pardon, mum?”
“I suppose I am to dine and sleep up here alone? Like some prisoner?”
she asked,
making no effort to conceal her bitterness.
A bit of color seeped into Sarah’s pale cheeks. “Well, no, mum. The dining room
is on the ground floor. And, of course, the master’s chambers are next to yours.”
Abbey was not expecting that and suddenly remembered the door in her room
adjoining another suite. Had he slept there last night while she cried herself
to sleep? She quickly looked away and pretended to study a priceless Chinese
vase as she tried to collect herself. She could be such a fool at times. Of course he would have chambers next to hers. Of course he would want her company
for that. He wanted the obligatory coupling to produce an heir. Beyond that he
wanted nothing to do with her. So exactly when was it she should expect that to
happen? Before or after he spoke to her again? Would he come barging in, claiming to own her now, in addition to the house, the room, and the door?
As Abbey followed Sarah down the grand staircase, she had to pause and blink
several times to clear hot tears of frustration so she could see where she was
stepping. In front of her, Sarah chatted away, pointing here and there as she
explained the surroundings. Abbey heard nothing. She was too overwhelmed by the
reality of her bleak situation to concentrate.
On the ground floor, Sarah reached the corner room well ahead of her, and when
Abbey crossed the threshold, she was busy at the sideboard with Jones.
Sebastian, the Devil’s secretary, sat at the table sipping a cup of tea. The nook was brightened by the sun streaming through a long bank of windows. A
large, round table dominated the center of the room, surrounded by four chairs
upholstered in yellow damask that matched the fresh-cut tulips in the center of
the table. A fire warmed the room from a marble hearth, and a sideboard full of
food was set across a long wall. On any other morning, in any other circumstance, Abbey would have delighted in the cozy room.
She was glad to see Sebastian; at least he seemed to care about her welfare. He
had looked in on her twice the previous evening, each time looking terribly concerned when she had sent him away. She told herself to shore up and inhaled a
deep breath.
“Good morning, Mr. Sebastian,” she forced herself to call.
Sebastian greeted her with a cheerful smile. “My lady! You are looking quite
refreshed after your long trip,” he said, artfully skipping any reference to her
so-called wedding and solitary evening. “Shall Jones pour you some tea?”
“Perchance, have you any coffee?”
“Ah, yes. I’ve heard Americans prefer coffee,” he remarked with a smile.
Abbey settled into a seat next to Sebastian as Jones placed a cup of coffee in
front of her, a caddie of toast, and a plate of fruit. “I am not really an American, sir. I lived there for some years with my aunt, but I was born in England, near York.”
“Pardon me, madam,” Sebastian apologized. “Your accent causes me to
forget.”
“Oh. That. Well, I gather it’s because I have not been to England in a very long
while.”
Sebastian smiled politely as Abbey took a sip of the hot coffee. She managed to
keep from gagging; she could have stood a spoon upright in it. Sebastian smiled
and very breezily launched into a story about his digestive system and the coffee of the Orient. After a while, Abbey had lapsed into comfortable dialogue
with the secretary and was trading stories with him.
“Sarah said that Lord Darfield has left for the day?” she asked nonchalantly.
Sebastian glanced surreptitiously at Jones’s back before answering. “He has gone
to Brighton,” he replied disapprovingly. “He shouldn’t be gone more than a day
or two.”
Brighton! Abbey was surprised by her sudden anger and by the fact that it made
her angry upset her even more. “He said nothing of going!” she blurted. But he
had. He had told her very clearly he intended to live there and leave her at Blessing Park. But would he go without so much as a cold good-bye or even a
well-deserved I-told-you-so?
“The master has a ship in port there and some business to attend. It was unavoidable,” Sebastian clarified.
Abbey pushed the plate of fruit away and sagged against the chair, unconsciously
wadding the napkin in her lap. The fact that he had left her one day after their
wedding infuriated her. He might despise her, but to leave her like some dockside wench without a word was reprehensible. He was not only an arrogant,
snobbish boor, but a rake as well!
At just past ten o’clock, Abbey bundled up and wandered outside.
Contemplating
her circumstances, she decided that her best course of action was to ignore this
damnable situation and carry on as she normally would. She could not very well
flee this rural estate and board a ship to America; she would have to wait for
his very exalted lordship’s return for that. For the time being, she was stuck
at Blessing Park, and therefore, she should try to make it as pleasurable a
visit as was humanly possible. The Devil of Darfield was not going to keep her
locked away in some room, pining for her aunt.
She would draw from the most pleasurable time of her life—America. Four women
overseeing a small farm brought freedom that none of them would have enjoyed had
they been married. They spent their days working and their nights gathered
around a fire engaged in a variety of unsophisticated activities. They did not
entertain, they did not go to town to meet eligible young men. They just existed. Peacefully, freely, and without restraint. If she was going to survive
this awful predicament, then she would do the same here. Why not? He would not
be in attendance, and apparently he did not care what she did with her time.
Abbey trudged out onto the snow blanketing the great circular drive, bashfully
declining the offers of help from various servants who seemed almost alarmed
that she was outside at all. She shrugged off their concern as she introduced
herself and asked each their names. Looking warily at one another, they reluctantly responded. Abbey then asked each of them to show her what work they
did at the estate. Completely astonished, the groomsmen pointed to the stables.
Inside, they exchanged anxious looks when Abbey climbed into the stalls and
cooed to the horses, then marched over to a very pregnant milk cow and lovingly
patted her sagging belly. The groundsmen, who had followed their new marchioness
with great curiosity, convinced her they could not show her the estate’s park
land because of the snow. And they steadfastly refused to take her to the hothouse when she asked, swearing Withers would have their heads if they so much
as stepped inside.
So Abbey insisted on being taken to the kennels next. Dismayed, the kennelmaster
looked on as she befriended a hound that had been mangled by a trap.
The master
had told him to put the dog down, the kennelmaster told her, but Abbey would not
listen to him and soon had the maimed dog following her about. She even went so
far as to announce the name Harry would be bestowed on the hound in honor of a
sailor she once knew with a similar gait. At that declaration, the kennelmaster
exchanged a frantic look with a groom. Lord Darfield never, under any circumstance, named his hounds.
After spending the morning with the animals and a group of very confused, very
enchanted servants, Abbey decided to visit the hothouse by herself. She laughed
at their pleas of caution and, with a jaunty wave and a promise to return—
alive, she assured them—she set out across the wide expanse of a winter wonderland that was obviously the garden. It appeared to cover several acres. A
tall wall of hedges shaped into various characters bordered the garden all around. Wide paths allowed access between carefully manicured plots. In the very
back were two large lawns with iron benches placed around the perimeter.
Abbey
was certain she had never seen anything so grand, and imagined it was quite
spectacular in full bloom.
She gasped with delight when she stepped inside the hothouse. A riot of color
greeted her: roses in full bloom, asters, geraniums, gardenias, and tulips were
everywhere. Terribly pleased, Abbey stroked the petal of a pristine white rose.
“You there! Don’t be handling me roses!” a deep voice barked. Abbey whirled
around to face one of the biggest, ugliest men she had ever seen. He had
a thick
patch of gray hair atop his enormous head. Beady little eyes glared at her from