A Matter of Grave Concern (27 page)

But the dowager wouldn’t be happy to see her. Lucien’s mother had been chilly enough when they bumped into each other at the hospital. And, as December advanced, Abby had a very serious concern of her own, one that was quickly invading her every thought, every action, and holding her hostage by a growing fear.

She hadn’t received her monthly flow since before her stint in Wapping nearly two months earlier. Perhaps it was normal for a woman to miss her menses one month and start the next. Abby didn’t know, and she had no one she could ask, especially without raising the specter of pregnancy. But according to her father’s medical journals and the lectures she had overheard, since she wasn’t allowed to attend legitimately, what she was experiencing did suggest that a baby might be involved—and with that came the inevitable question: What would she do?

She was staring down at her stomach, trying to see if it was bulging in any way, when Mrs. Fitzgerald came upon her in the pantry.

“Did you get the new candles in?”

Startled, Abby nearly fell off the stool she was using to straighten the top shelves. “Yes. We should have plenty now.”

“Good.” The housekeeper started to go but turned back. “Are you feeling unwell, dear?”

Dear?
Mrs. Fitzgerald had been far kinder to her recently than ever before. “No. No, not at all.”

“You look a little peaked. And you’ve grown quiet these days. It worries your father, you know, to see you so changed since . . . since you were gone.”

“I’m fine,” Abby insisted. “Truly.”

“You’re not pining away, are you? Your father would admit you, you know, if he could.”

“To Aldersgate?” Thank God her thoughts had gone in that direction and not any other. “He hasn’t ever said anything like that to me.”

“He doesn’t want to get your hopes up. But he doesn’t see the sense in denying you. He thinks you would make a very capable surgeon.”

Abby smiled. If anyone would know what her father was doing and feeling, it was Mrs. Fitzgerald, who paid strict attention to his every whim and fancy. “Thanks for telling me,” she said.

“Perhaps it will happen someday.”

“But that day isn’t now. We’re not even anywhere close.” He would be ostracized if he ever even tried, so ostracized that there probably wouldn’t be another male student who would sign up for classes at Aldersgate ever again. It would probably even cause a riot. “I . . . I think I shall retire to the country for a few months.” Maybe a few years—if she was facing the humiliation and ostracism of becoming an unwed mother. Fear of the backlash she would face made her weak in the knees, which was one of the reasons she’d been so quiet, as Mrs. Fitzgerald had noted. She felt like she was constantly holding her breath against the day that she would know for sure. But, with the recent tenderness in her breasts, her body was changing, and she feared she knew why.

“You . . .
want
to move to Herefordshire?”

And leave everything she knew and loved? Not necessarily. The very thought frightened her—especially because she knew what she would contend with. If she was expecting, Aunt Emily would be mortified.
She
would be mortified, too—except for one small but very important piece of her heart, which would be glad to have the child of the man she loved, to retain such an intimate connection to him despite all his fiancée would receive in her place. Although she didn’t want to spend the next five or ten years—maybe longer—with Aunt Emily, having a baby out of wedlock would necessitate it. Where else did she have to go?

Maybe it was just as well, she decided. She would never get into medical school. She had to face that and plot some other path for her life. “The change of scenery and the fresh air might do me some good.”

“Indeed, but . . . you have always been so opposed to leaving the college.”

Obviously, Mrs. Fitzgerald knew as much about Abby’s resistance to that as she did everything else at Aldersgate. But pregnancy would make it impossible for Abby to remain in London. “As I said, I need a change.”

Mrs. Fitzgerald didn’t look as pleased as Abby had expected her to be. “When will you go?” she asked.

“I think . . . just after the holidays.” If she didn’t get her monthly flow, she would have no choice but to go
somewhere
. There was no way she would further embarrass her father by making her situation obvious, or run the risk of Lucien finding out that he had left her with child. He had warned her beforehand that she could not be part of his life. He would be marrying his fiancée, and she would not stand in the way of his happiness.

Chapter 29

As Christmas approached, Max felt well enough to be restless. Although his doctor pleaded with him to remain in bed, he had been cooped up so long that he would have risked just about anything to get out on a horse, and that included bad weather. He wanted to visit Hobbs, which he did one day. Later that same week, he attended Bill, Emmett and Ebenezer Holmes’s hanging. He didn’t enjoy the gory spectacle as much as the other spectators who crowded around and cheered, but he felt it was only right that he see it through. Maybe they hadn’t hurt Madeline, but they had killed Tom and had attempted to kill him and Hobbs as well. His mother had received word from Abby’s father that they had located Tom’s body. According to the law, they deserved what they were getting but, as Lucien led his horse away, he felt unsettled. He still didn’t know where Madeline was. He hadn’t brought his nephew’s mother home to him, as he had set out to do . . .

He wondered if he would ever find peace. He wanted to see Abby, to thank her for all she had done and assure himself that she was happy being back in her regular life. He thought it might be easier for him to go on without her if she seemed content, but he veered away from Aldersgate and toward Mayfair in spite of that. At the same time he thought a visit might help, he feared where it might lead. She was all he thought about. It wasn’t fair to Hortense, who was trying so hard to be the perfect companion whenever they were together. She had even come to his bed recently to let him know she would “allow him to expend his lust upon her” if he wanted.

The sad thing was that he hadn’t even been tempted. He had turned her away with the flimsy excuse that he would not take what wasn’t yet his and prayed she wouldn’t recognize his response for the lack of desire it signified.

He had almost reached home when he suddenly wheeled his horse around. He was feeling much stronger than he had after visiting Hobbs. The past three days had made a noticeable difference. He liked being out, away from the house, his mother and Hortense, and the constant reminder of his nephew who trailed him everywhere. He couldn’t go back quite yet. Whether it was wise or not, he had to see Abby. He had already held off as long as he could.

Once the decision was made, he encouraged his mount to hurry the pace and felt his heart lift the closer he came to Smithfield. He even stopped to buy her a gift. He couldn’t help himself. Since he wanted to be able to give her so much more, a small trinket seemed insignificant in the bigger picture.

Surely, he could indulge himself that much.

When Mrs. Fitzgerald came to get Abby, she seemed flustered.

“What is it?” Abby asked before the other woman could even say a word.

“His Grace, the Duke of Rowenberry, is here to see you,” she gasped.

Abby’s heart nearly stopped in her chest. She had been
dying
to see Lucien. Every day since they had been together in Wapping had felt like a month or longer. But now . . . now that she feared she was pregnant, she was afraid. Was there something about her that would give her condition away?

She smoothed a hand over her stomach, just to be sure she was still as slender as she had been that morning, when she had checked the mirror—which was something she was quickly becoming obsessed with doing. She didn’t want anyone to guess, didn’t want to ruin the holidays. Once she was well away, and living in Herefordshire, she would send a letter to her father. He was the only one in London who needed to know—who
could
know. And a letter would cause him the least amount of embarrassment. She had it all planned out, knew how difficult it would be, for both of them, to have any kind of discussion.

“Abby?” Mrs. Fitzgerald prompted. “Did you hear me?”

Clearing her throat, Abby turned to the housekeeper in appeal. “Do I . . . do I look presentable?”

“You look fine. Regardless, he’s a duke. You can’t keep him waiting.”

He had kept
her
waiting for weeks. She supposed it was human nature to grow hurt and angry over that, even though she understood exactly why he had.

After smoothing her dress and her hair, she threw back her shoulders. “He’s in the parlor?”

“Yes.”

“Of course.” God in heaven, what would she say to him? How would she keep from throwing herself into his arms?

No matter what happened, she couldn’t do that, she reminded herself. She was very likely carrying his baby, and that meant she had to be sure this was good-bye, or he would find out.

She stopped at the door, and caught the arm of Mrs. Fitzgerald. “I have to get something that belongs to him. Tell him I will be right there.”

The housekeeper hesitated. She thought every second was a breach in etiquette. But she marched down the hall as Abby turned the other way and ran to her room for Madeline’s locket.

When she finally entered the parlor, Abby saw Lucien standing at the fireplace, staring into the flames.

“Hello, Your Grace.”

At the sound of her voice, he whipped around and his eyes devoured her instantly. “Abby . . .”

She took several steps toward him, and he took several steps toward her, but she forced herself to stop before they could actually meet. “It’s good to see you looking so fit.”

“And you. You are beautiful, as always.” He lifted a small box. “I brought you something.”

As she accepted it, he ran a hand along the inside of her arm, and she closed her eyes. His touch caused such yearning, such exquisite anguish.

“You shouldn’t have,” she said.

“I wanted to.”

With a nod, she opened it and found a diamond necklace that was far more expensive than anything she could ever keep.

“Do you like it?” he asked, sounding anxious.

“It’s . . . gorgeous. Stunning. But . . . nothing I can accept.”

“Of course it is,” he said, suddenly the imperious duke. “I won’t hear of you returning it.”

She chose not to argue. Maybe she could keep it, as a memento. A necklace such as this could provide a great many necessities for their child, if ever she grew desperate enough to sell it. “I have something for you, too,” she said.

His eyebrows lifted as she unhooked Madeline’s necklace from around her neck and handed it to him.

“How did you get this?” he asked. “It was in my pocket when Jack and the others attacked me at the warehouse. I thought . . . I thought it was gone for good.”

“They found it on Jack’s body after you shot him. I told the police that it was mine so that I could return it to you.”

A tender smile curved his lips as he held it up. “Thank you.”

She nodded. “I hope . . . it brings you some peace.”

Lines appeared in his normally smooth forehead. “I don’t know if I will ever find peace without you in my life.”

Those words gave her so much hope that she almost told him about the baby. She felt he would want to know. But then she remembered that his father had gotten involved in a similar situation, and that he had sworn not to do the same. If she loved him, she would support him in what would make him the happiest, and she knew what that was.

“Of course you will,” she said. “I am going to Herefordshire in January. That might make things easier on both of us.”

He didn’t seem pleased. “What’s in Herefordshire?”

“My aunt.”

“And you want to go there?”

“I think it’s best.”

Silence fell, during which he seemed to be struggling to know what to do with his hands. “You heard they hung Emmett and Bill today?” he said at length.

“I did.”

“You didn’t go?”

“No. I couldn’t watch. Were Agnes and the children there?” Bill’s wife had Abby’s brush and mirror, and her elephant. Abby hadn’t been pleased about that. But she couldn’t begrudge them to a widow, even a rather unlikeable widow—not after all Agnes had lost. “How will she get by?”

“I sent some money to help her. But I’m sure it won’t be easy.”

Abby nodded. “That was nice.”

He paused as his eyes met and locked with hers. “I’m dying to touch you.”

Abby felt the same. Her chest was so tight she could scarcely draw breath. “I’ve missed you,” she admitted, her words the softest of whispers and all the more revealing for that.

“Let me at least put on the necklace I bought you.”

She would have to hide it under her dress. There was no way she could walk around flaunting such an expensive piece of jewelry. Everyone would remark on it and wonder where it had come from. But she didn’t point out the obvious. She knew it would only disappoint him that he couldn’t even give her this.

So she turned, and he came up behind her and fastened the necklace. But he didn’t stop there. His mouth found her neck and began moving up toward her ear.

“I think of you every day, every night,” he breathed.

“We can’t give in to this . . . this wanton desire,” she said, but she was convinced that she was carrying his child. That had to count for something, didn’t it? Give her some claim on him?

She didn’t move out of reach. She leaned back, and felt her bones melt as his hands came up to cup her breasts.

“What happened to us in Wapping?” he asked.

It seemed an unlikely place to find happiness, to find
home
, but she felt as if she had found exactly that. “I fell in love with you,” she told him.

“Abby . . .” Turning her in his arms, he kissed her mouth and she was so lost in the taste of him, the solid feel of him in her arms, that she couldn’t even bring herself to care that anyone could walk in on them, including her father. This put a stop to the endless yearning; this was everything she craved.

It wasn’t until she heard a noise out in the hall that the threat of discovery became real enough she could bring herself to break off the kiss. “We can’t do this, can’t act like this,” she said.

He didn’t seem to be listening. That kiss had only inflamed his desire. She could see it in his eyes. “Come to me tonight at the town house,” he said. “Let me hold you one more time.”

“Max—”

“Call me Lucien,” he said.

“Lucien. Don’t you remember what you said? How hard you were trying to keep me out of your real life?”

He waved her words away. “That’s impossible. Come to me. I’m only asking for one more night.”

She could feel the weight of the diamond pendant he had bought her resting between her breasts. She loved it, loved knowing she would have at least a token of his regard. But was she making a mistake in accepting his gift? In accepting his invitation, too?

“What time?” she asked.

“Whatever time you say.”

“It would have to be late or my father or Mrs. Fitzgerald might notice that I’m gone.”

“I’ll send someone for you after everyone is asleep. Eleven?”

“I’ll be waiting at the door in my father’s office. Have your man come down the alley.”

“I wish it were eleven now,” he said.

Abby stood in the room long after he was gone, staring into the fire. She hadn’t told him about the baby, and she wouldn’t, couldn’t. She would allow herself tonight, would make love with him one last time. That would be good-bye. Then she would pack up and go to Herefordshire regardless of the holidays.

Lucien paced in his bedroom while he waited for his most trusted footman to return with Abby. Hortense had left earlier in the afternoon, at his request. He had met with her and suggested, now that he was healed, that they return to their regular lives until the date of their wedding. It hardly seemed fair that he had to endure her constant presence ten months earlier than expected. He didn’t dislike her in any way, but it was difficult not to resent her when she stood between him and the woman he really wanted. It was difficult not to resent his mother, too, who seemed so eager to thrust Hortense upon him.

In reality, he knew it was his own sense of duty, more than anything else, that hemmed him in, but he couldn’t avoid who he was, who he had to be, and that rankled, too, because it cost him Abby.

He felt cross as he waited, angry for no particular reason. But then Abby was there, wearing only the diamond pendant he had given her, and the rest of the world simply fell away.