An Improper Governess: An Improper Liaisons Novella, Book 2 (13 page)

D
ear Sir
,

What the bloody hell?
Nicholas read over the letter again, not trusting what he saw before his very eyes.
Abigail is gone...
He felt dazed, like someone had just planted a bone-crunching facer to his head. Although his insides ached with a sharp pain, as if he’d just been gutted with a blunt butter knife.

He looked up at the pale-faced housemaid who hovered by the door to Abigail’s bedchamber. “Bessie, is it? You say you found this only an hour ago.”

“Yes, sir. When I came to check on Miss Adams—she hadn’t appeared at breakfast this morning—I found it on the nightstand by the scent bottles. I’m sorry for interrupting your breakfast, sir, but as the letter was addressed to you, I thought I should fetch you straightaway. I haven’t touched it or read it, sir. I promise.”

Nicholas wasn’t so sure the girl was telling the truth about that, but it hardly mattered. What mattered was Abigail had quit Hartfield—had left him. And he had no idea why.

Something had happened.
But what?

Had
he
done something to hurt her? He’d been busy but Abigail had known why he’d avoided seeing her. This didn’t make any sense. Unless she’d changed her mind about becoming a courtesan. He’d sensed she’d struggled with the idea from the very beginning.

He directed his attention to Bessie again. “It seems Miss Adams has resigned. Did she say anything to you about this yesterday or even before that? Or to anyone else?”

Bessie wrung her hands in her apron. “No, sir. I’m quite shocked. I had no idea. And I don’t believe she was particularly close to anyone else on staff here; anyone that she would share confidences with at any rate. Especially not Mrs. Gra—” She clamped her lips shut and blushed.

“It’s all right, Bessie. I know there was no love lost between Miss Adams and Mrs. Graham.” He glanced about the room. The wardrobe door was wide open and he could see several gowns and the apricot silk peignoir—the garments he had bought to make her smile—still hanging inside. Another sharp pain assailed him, this time in the vicinity of his chest. “It seems she’s left behind some of her things.”

“Yes, sir. Although it looks like her valise is missing.” Bessie lifted her chin. “I helped move Miss Adams’s possessions when she relocated bedrooms recently.”

“Yes.” Nicholas wandered over to the window and looked out across the grounds. It was another fine day. He should feel jubilant because his house guests were departing at long last. But instead, it felt like his chest was caught in a vice. He couldn’t breathe. His heart felt like lead. It seemed that with Abigail’s departure, she’d taken all the air with her. And all the joy.

He turned back to Bessie. “Do you have any idea when she might have left? Or where she may have gone?” He’d been so preoccupied yesterday and last night with his hosting duties, he couldn’t even recall the last time he’d seen Abigail. Perhaps the day before. He gestured at the trunk. “She has asked me to send on her things but hasn’t left a forwarding address.”

Bessie shook her head. “I’m sorry, sir, but no. I know she has two aunts but I have no idea where they live or if she has even gone to stay with them. And to answer your first question, I suspect Miss Adams left yesterday evening.” She nodded at the bed. “I don’t think she slept here last night.”

So where on earth had she gone?
She must have taken someone else into her confidence, but who? As soon as Nash and company departed, he’d question all of the servants. Leave no stone unturned. Ask around the village. Perhaps Abigail had taken the mail-coach. He had a vague notion that it passed through Hedgecombe early in the morning.

He gripped Abigail’s resignation letter so tightly, the parchment crumpled. He had to find her.

Bessie cleared her throat. “If you’ll excuse me, sir. Mrs. Graham is expecting me downstairs. With everyone leaving shortly...”

“Yes. Quite.” Nicholas inclined his head. “Thank you, Bessie, for your discretion. If you think of anything else that might help. Anything at all...”

Bessie curtsied. “I’ll be sure to let you know, sir.”

Nicholas glanced around the room once more, his gaze lingering on the tester bed. The rose pink quilt was smooth, the sheets beneath pulled tight. The pillows lay perfectly plumped against the carved cherrywood headboard. To think that only five days ago, he’d lain here with Abigail in his arms, happy and replete. Only now, five days ago seemed like a lifetime. And the days and years that yawned ahead would be filled with nothing but emptiness if he never saw her again.

He scanned the letter once more and the words before him blurred. His chest tightened. Abigail was gone. And it was only now that he realized he loved her.

* * *

S
everal hours later
, Nicholas breathed a huge sigh of relief as the last of his house guests’ carriages crunched along the gravel drive and out of the wrought-iron gates of Hartfield.

He’d already discretely questioned Lawson and Mrs. Graham but neither of them appeared to have a clue about Abigail’s whereabouts or why she’d left so suddenly. Apparently, she’d dined with the other servants yesterday evening but no one had seen her after half-past eight. So she’d clearly left during the night or early this morning.

But he would not be deterred. He had resources. He would find her. And whatever it was that had sent her running, he would fix it.

He couldn’t live without her.

He’d just climbed the front stairs to enter the Great Hall when he heard the crunch of wheels on the drive again.
What now?
Stifling a curse, he swung around and saw the last person he’d ever expected to visit, bowling up the drive in a gig—Mr. Elias Wentworth, the vicar of Hedgecombe.

He narrowed his gaze as the vicar drew to a halt and tossed the reins to Colin before alighting from the vehicle. It had been well over a year since Nicholas had last seen the man and he’d hardly changed at all. He was still florid of face although when he removed his beaver hat and bowed, Nicholas thought the smattering of blond hair covering his round pate was even thinner. He might be a well-meaning sort of chap but like most of his ilk, he was entirely boring. If the man was going to invite him to lunch next Sunday or ask him to make a contribution to one of the local charities he already supported, he’d be hard pressed not to snap at him. He didn’t have time for this.

“I take it you’d like a word with me, Mr. Wentworth?”

“Yes, Sir Nicholas. If you could spare a moment.”

Nicholas clasped his hands behind his back and remained on the steps. He wasn’t going to invite the man in because then he’d have to go through the rigmarole of offering him refreshments. “I might have one, perhaps two, but that’s all.”

Mr. Wentworth’s face grew even redder. “Well, first of all, I should say welcome back to the parish, sir.”

Nicholas sighed. “Pardon my bluntness but I have a pressing matter to attend to, Wentworth. If you could just get to the point.” He cocked an eyebrow expectantly.

“Right.” The vicar drew in a deep breath. “I’m here to collect Miss Adams’s traveling trunk.”

“You!
What?
” Of all the things Elias Wentworth might have said, Nicholas hadn’t expected that. But then, perhaps it shouldn’t surprise him at all that another man—even a priggish pastor—would feel duty bound to help Miss Adams. He supposed he’d solved the mystery of who was assisting her. And Wentworth clearly knew where she was headed.

Nicholas schooled his expression into something that he hoped approximated politeness. “There’s no need to trouble yourself, Mr. Wentworth. If you could just tell me her direction, I will make sure the trunk is delivered safely. Is she staying at the vicarage?”

The vicar drew himself up to his full height and raised his chin. “I’m afraid I cannot divulge the information you seek, sir. Miss Adams entrusted me with a task and I made a promise to her that I would fulfill it. And it’s no trouble at all.”

Frustration flared. It rankled enough that Abigail had gone to someone else for help in the first place. And now this pompous ass saw fit to withhold information from him. It was enough to make him want to knock the man’s daylights out. He descended the stairs and grasped the vicar’s arm. “Now listen here, Wentworth. Stop obfuscating. Miss Adams’s well-being is very important to me.”

Wentworth shook him off and looked him in the eye. His blue gaze was frigid. “You have a strange way of showing it considering you broke her heart.”

Nicholas swallowed. “She said that?” he whispered.

Wentworth straightened his coat. “Not in so many words but yes, I believe that’s precisely what you did to her. She deserves better.”

Confusion clouded Nicholas’s mind. What in God’s name had happened? Oh, Christ, what if she’d been at the lake yesterday and had seen his exchange with Horatia. It would be easy to misconstrue. Could that be the reason she’d left? Did she think he was courting another woman? He had to know. “Did she say anything else at all?” He knew he sounded desperate but he was beyond caring. “I think there’s been a terrible misunderstanding.”

Wentworth didn’t respond and Nicholas realized he wouldn’t get any further information out of the vicar. Misery and pent-up anger clogging his throat, he all but growled, “You won’t help me, will you?”

“I’m afraid not. But I will say she’s no longer staying at the vicarage. I won’t have you pounding on the door, frightening my housekeeper.”

Nicholas gestured toward the front door, which still stood ajar. “Go and talk to Lawson. He’ll arrange for the trunk to be brought down.”

Wentworth inclined his head. “Thank you.”

Nicholas supposed he could have the vicar followed as he watched him drive away with Abigail’s trunk five minutes later. Or bribe his housekeeper for information. He could also give chase to the mail-coach to see if Abigail was on it. However, as it was now well after ten o’clock, it would have had a three hour head start on him at the very least.

But then there was one person he hadn’t questioned yet.

Regina.

He wasn’t sure if it was God or the Devil himself at work but at that very moment, another pair of carriages appeared at the gates, both bearing the Barsby crest.

He never thought he’d be grateful to see his sister-in-law, but right now, he most certainly was.

“Nicholas. What a pleasant surprise,” she crowed as Colin handed her down from the carriage. “This isn’t like you to come and greet me.”

Touché.
Nicholas summoned his most charming smile. “Regina. Welcome home.”

She flounced past him up the stairs. “What do you want?”

He grimaced. Damn the woman. She knew him too well. “If you have the time, I’d appreciate a quick word.”

She paused at the doorway and sighed dramatically. “Give me a half hour then meet me in the morning room.”

“Of course.”

His nieces, Lavinia and Kitty, alighted from the second carriage with their nurse. After he’d dealt with their enthusiastic greeting, which involved much hugging and squealing, he bid them adieu then went for a brisk walk about the grounds, down to the temple folly. He stood on the marble steps and glanced over to the horse chestnut tree where the picnic had taken place.

Had Abigail wandered this way yesterday? He knew the folly was a favorite haunt of hers for reading. What if she’d witnessed the moment Horatia had thrown herself at him? At this distance, it might have looked like they’d kissed. His back had been to the temple and the low hanging branches obscured one’s view. The more he thought about the possibility, the more certain he was that Abigail had indeed been watching. It was the only thing that made any sense.

Elias Wentworth had said he’d broken her heart. Which could only mean one thing.
Abigail loved him.
Despite the harrowing morning, despite the obstacles he faced, Nicholas found himself grinning from ear to ear. If he could find her, he could explain everything. Make amends.

He would tell her that he loved her and that he never wanted to let her go.

His heart swelling with renewed hope, he dashed back to the Hall to wait for Regina in the morning room. He’d just about worn a path across the Aubusson rug by the time she joined him fifteen minutes later. Indeed, he thought his head might explode with frustration. The waiting was killing him.

“I just heard from Mrs. Graham that Miss Adams has abandoned her post,” she said, without preamble when she entered the room. “I gather you are to blame?”