A Brother's Honor (28 page)

“Abig pretty?”

The guard could not hide his surprise at the name Clive had given her, but he glanced at Greene as he said eagerly, “Yes, Abig pretty. Clive good boy. Abig is for Clive.”

“Abig mine?”

“Yes. Abig is for Clive. Touch pretty.”

The guards chuckled as Clive dropped the last petals and turned to face Abigail. She stared at Clive's transformed face. The gentle Clive who had walked with her in the garden had vanished. She backed away as he came closer.

“Clive … Clive,” she whispered, knowing too well the price of screaming out her fear.

“Pretty. Pretty.” He grasped her and pulled her against him. He fondled her, then touched her hair. Suddenly he released her. “Pretty Abig?”

Not sure what else to say, she answered, “Pretty Clive?”

When Clive chuckled, Fuller cursed. Fuller crossed the room and grabbed Clive's arm.

“Don't hurt him!” Abigail cried when Fuller grappled Clive into his control with Greene's help.

Fuller snarled, “I don't know what you have done to him, but Sir Harlan will not be pleased. You can be damned sure that the next time—”

“What about next time?”

At the question, all of them but Clive glanced toward the door to the hall.

Sir Harlan walked into the room. “What about next time?” he demanded. Before anyone could answer, he added, “Get Clive out of here.”

Fuller and Greene hastily led Clive out of the parlor and up the stairs toward his room. Abigail sat in a chair, closing her eyes as her shoulders sagged. Her small connection with Clive was the last thing Sir Harlan would have wanted.

“What in hell happened here?” Sir Harlan asked as he went to the sideboard to pour himself a brandy.

Deciding not to mince on the facts, she told him how Fuller had left her alone with Clive. “He hoped Clive would hurt me, or mayhap even kill me.” She laughed icily. “That did not happen. Clive and I took a walk.”

“You did what?” He stared at her as if he could not believe what he was hearing. She was sure he did not.

“We took a walk in the garden. Has he ever been in the garden before?”

He disregarded her question as he smiled with the frigid rage she recognized as dangerous. “Have you civilized him?”

“He wants only to be with his ‘pretties.'” She picked up a flower petal. “He laughed with me today.”

“He did what?” He knocked the petals from her hand as viciously as Fuller had sent them flying from Clive's fingers. When she gaped in astonishment, he snapped, “I don't want him to be a gardener. I want him to father my grandchild. You will not see him again until the wedding. By then, with Fuller's tutorage, he shall not be interested in looking at flowers with you.”

She came to her feet. “He is your son! Don't you care about him at all?”

“No.” He chuckled when she swallowed the retort she had been about to make. “You didn't expect such honesty? 'Tis the truth. If my older son had not been killed in that duel, I would never have bothered to bring Clive from the home where he was with others like himself. Go to your room, Abigail. The very sight of you vexes me.”

She went to the door. “Sir Harlan?”

“Leave me, girl!”

“After I say one thing.” Before he could halt her with another order to leave, she said quietly, “There is a gentleness in your son which you will never know. Who is the lesser man?”

For once, he was the one shocked to silence. She left the room. As she climbed the stairs, she knew it was too late to try to reason with Sir Harlan. Clive's fate and hers had been assured by his father's hatred for both of them. Now she had to try to find a way to foil Sir Harlan's schemes before she and Dominic and Clive all became the victims of the baronet's malevolence.

Chapter Twenty

When Abigail left her room, she made sure she looked her very best. She kept her head high and tried not to smile, but she glanced in the mirror set amid the paintings along the railing leading to the stairs. Tessie had spent more than a half hour curling Abigail's red hair into ringlets which were pinned up on her head before dropping onto her shoulders. She did not want to ruin Tessie's work. In a high-waisted gown of her favorite mint shade, she was set for battle.

As her hand followed the curve of the banister, her fingers tightened on the wood. Two men waited in the foyer. Captain Fitzgerald! What was
he
doing back here so quickly? She had not planned on him being here tonight.

Abigail was aware of both men watching her, but she did not acknowledge either of them until she stepped down onto the marble floor. When Sir Harlan stepped forward with his officious smile, she raised her right hand formally to him.

Taking her fingers, Sir Harlan bowed over them. When he started to raise them to his lips, she pulled them back, not hiding her distaste. She did not offer her hand to Captain Fitzgerald.

“Good evening, Sir Harlan,” she said quietly. She glanced away from him and added, “This is a surprise, Captain Fitzgerald.”

The man she had believed was her father snickered as he sipped on a glass filled high with brandy. “Listen to her! Putting on airs as if she is a fine lady already. She shall change her tune after the wedding.”

Sir Harlan flinched more visibly than Abigail did. “I do not wish to speak of such private matters here,” the baronet said.

Captain Fitzgerald just laughed, and Abigail realized he was already intoxicated. She wondered how long the two men had been drinking while she had been upstairs getting ready for the evening. Then she noted that Sir Harlan was as sober as a parson. Tessie would have warned her if Captain Fitzgerald had arrived before she came to help Abigail dress. Captain Fitzgerald must have been drinking before he arrived.

She shuddered. She did not want to be here with Captain Fitzgerald or with Sir Harlan. The past fortnight had been an endless torment. Every day, she feared Sir Harlan would announce that Dominic's trial would be held that day. Life in the huge house had become even more uneasy. Sir Harlan refused to let her see Clive again. Several times, she had heard shouts from the wing where Clive had his rooms. She ached for the poor soul who was a victim as much as she was.

“Abigail?” asked Sir Harlan, offering his arm.

She disdained it by stepping back a half step. That set Captain Fitzgerald to laughing harder. With his face reddening, Sir Harlan led the way along the hallway. Abigail walked beside him, but kept a forearm's length between them.

As they entered a large parlor that was fancier than the room where she had met with Clive last week, Abigail recalled the lessons she had learned when she had believed that Dominic was her enemy. If she remained in control of her own errant emotions, no one could guess that fear was the strongest one.

“May I say you look lovely this evening?” Sir Harlan gushed as she sat in a chair that was separated from the others by a pair of round tables.

“Thank you.” When she added nothing else, the two men exchanged uneasy glances. She was pleased she could disconcert them, but she had already learned that any victories in this house for her would be small and infrequent.

Captain Fitzgerald almost collapsed as he was trying to sit. With a guffaw, he raised his glass. “To the fulfillment of your dreams, Sir Harlan, and the filling of my pockets.”

“Of course, Arthur, you will not receive any remuneration until she marries Clive.” Again the baronet appeared embarrassed.

Abigail stared at Sir Harlan in astonishment. Why was he coloring as red as her hair when he was getting what he wanted? Then she realized that he was not embarrassed, but furious. Again the question was why.

She had her answer when Captain Fitzgerald sat straighter and lost his drunken smile. Setting his glass hard on the table, he said, “You agreed that if the wedding was held before month's end you would pay me—”

Sir Harlan turned away from him, jerking around to face Abigail like a dog taking a scent. “Abigail, I have received exciting news today. I daresay I cannot wait a moment longer.”

“Exciting?” She let sarcasm drip into her words. “What could be more exciting than the life I am living here now?” When she noticed that her hands were trembling, she clasped them behind her back.

Captain Fitzgerald rounded on her. “You cannot think you can make us believe that you
want
to marry Clive Morris.”

Sir Harlan's face deepened to a ruddy fury, but he reached under his coat and drew out a piece of light cream paper. “I received an invitation from Lady Sudley.”

“Lady Sudley?” Abigail strained to keep her face serene. There must be no hint that she had been awaiting this answer to the note she had sent to Lady Sudley last week after visiting Dominic in the prison. That Sir Harlan was excited over the receipt of the letter suggested that Lady Sudley was willing to help her and Dominic.

“Yes. She has heard that you are to be married and wishes you to come to London.”

Captain Fitzgerald grumbled, “And slip away with her help, no doubt.”

“You do not know Lady Sudley, so you should not judge her so,” Abigail returned, letting vexation creep into her voice. Why had he returned
now?
“She offered me shelter when I had none and welcomed me as if I were part of her family.”

“Yes,” seconded Sir Harlan, unfolding the page. “She knows Abigail's mother is dead, and she wishes to help Abigail with the selection of the perfect wedding gown.” He smiled broadly. “And the dear lady is inviting me to join her family in Town as well.”

“Do not trust Abigail in London.” Captain Fitzgerald lurched to his feet, as unsteady as Clive. “She is a scheming shrew just like her mother.”

Abigail shrugged. “I do not wish to go, Sir Harlan. I admit that I would greatly enjoy seeing the Sudleys again, but I have no interest in the perfect wedding gown for this ceremony.”

The baronet bristled, and she knew her remarks had been as effective as Captain Fitzgerald's at upsetting Sir Harlan, who clearly could not wait to play court on the Sudleys. “Of course, you will go and allow Lady Sudley to help you. It would be beneath reproach to turn down such a generous invitation. I shall hear no more of this.”

“But, Sir Harlan—”

“Abigail, I said you shall go, and you shall.”

She glanced at Captain Fitzgerald, who was beginning to smile. Let him think she was browbeaten. If he was enjoying that, he might not think again of his suspicions, which were uncomfortably close to the truth.

“Sir Harlan—” she began again.

“If you are going to say anything but yes,” the baronet said in his most condescending tone, “then say nothing.”

Clenching her hands at her sides, Abigail blinked as if she were about to cry. She must not let them guess she wanted to spin about with delight. She turned and walked toward the door.

Sir Harlan called to her back, “We will leave at dawn the day after tomorrow. Be ready.”

She stiffened her shoulders, but did not reply. She walked out. As she closed the door behind her, she heard the baronet say, “And you can stay here, Arthur, to oversee the final details before the wedding.”

Abigail put her hand over her mouth to silence her giggle that the contemptible Captain Fitzgerald was having to deal with the matters that Sir Harlan wanted to put aside in order to win the Sudleys' friendship. Mayhap it was not so horrid that Captain Fitzgerald had returned just now.

Climbing the stairs, she stroked the smooth banister. Soon she would be out of Sir Harlan's house and seeking a way not to return. Turning, she scanned the lower floor. She wanted to shout her farewells now.

Another giggle tickled in her throat as she could hear, in her memory's ear, her aunt's reprimand after a far younger Abigail had slid down the banister in the house overlooking New Bedford harbor. Each admonishment Abigail received had been accompanied by one of her aunt's warm hugs. So much love was shared in that house, but she had not appreciated the treasure she had possessed.

How proud Aunt Velma and Uncle Jareb would be to learn of Abigail's idea to contact Lady Sudley! It had been a risk, but, as her uncle had always said, nothing truly wonderful came without some risk.

She smiled. Dear Aunt Velma and Uncle Jareb. Not her uncle, but her father. She reconstructed his windsculpted face from memory. His red hair and stubborn chin were so much like hers that she wondered why she had never questioned her parentage. How Uncle Jareb would have admired Dominic if the war had not stood between them! Uncle Jareb always spoke with respect of the men who commanded ships facing the sea's many moods.

Her happiness faltered as she climbed the stairs. Captain Fitzgerald would not take a message from Abigail to Aunt Velma. Instead he would devise lies. She feared his tales would be aimed at hurting Aunt Velma because she had taken Abigail into her heart.

But that would not matter if she could find help in London and free Dominic so both of them could flee from England. Then Captain Fitzgerald could wallow in his lies, and she would be done with him.

She hurried to her rooms that were her only haven in his house. When she reached the door, it opened before she could put her fingers on the latch. She smiled at Tessie.

“Lady Sudley wrote to Sir Harlan inviting us to London,” Abigail said as soon as she closed the door behind her.

Tessie's smile widened her cheeks. “How wonderful! And so quickly.”

“We leave for London at dawn the day after tomorrow.” She went to the French doors and flung them open. “Which gives me tomorrow to pay a visit to the modiste.”

“Tomorrow?” Tessie's voice lost its good cheer. “Do you think that is wise, Miss Abigail? If you are discovered—”

“I shan't be. Sir Harlan is oblivious to anything but gaining Lord Sudley's patronage.” She laughed. “He intends to leave Captain Fitzgerald here and put him in charge of overseeing what wedding plans still must be completed.” Rubbing her hands together, she stared out at the prison. “This has to work. It may be our only chance.”