Miss Foxworth's Fate (10 page)

“But you’re
dead
...” wailed Abby.

“And she should have bloody well stayed dead, too, if you ask me,” grunted Eugenia.

Abby ignored the interruption, spellbound by the youthful face so like hers that was smiling warmly at her.

“I had every intention of staying dead, Eugenia. There is nothing in England for me any more. Nothing but you, my dear...” She raised a hand and gently touched Abby’s cheek. “So when I heard that you needed me, I decided to pay a short visit. I hope you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me.”

“I...I needed you? I don’t understand.” Abby knew her voice was plaintive, but she was all at sea now, confused and scared and fighting the urge to bury her head beneath the sofa cushions until all this went back into the bad dream it must surely be.

Angelica glanced over at the Dowager who managed to look guilty and defiant at the same time.

Eugenia gasped. “You, Mama Wetherford?
You
invited this...this woman here?”

“Oh cut line, Eugenia. If I’d had my way, this would have come as no surprise at all to Abby here. But nooooo.” She thumped her cane crossly on the ground. “You namby-pamby snirps had to string a line of Banbury tales from here to John O’Groats, and let this poor gel think her mama was dead.”

Abby placed her cold hands on her hot forehead. “I’m confused.” And that had to be the understatement to top all understatements.

Angelica laughed quietly. “Will you let me tell you about it, my dear?”

Abigail raised her head. “It would seem there is much to tell, isn’t there? You’re alive, you’re very lovely, and you look like me. And you’re my mother. Back from the dead.”

The Dowager guffawed. “Well, I’ve heard Venice described as heaven a few times, but I think that’s going a bit far, gel.” Her wrinkled eyes narrowed. “Eugenia.”

The abrupt command jerked the woman out of her temper and she turned to blink at the older woman.

“Get those lazy servants in here with a tea tray. We’ll be dust dry long before we’ve finished thrashing this thing out, and damn it, I’m hungry.”

In a matter of moments the Dowager was enjoying more than her fair share of cream cakes, accompanied by that most English of restoratives, a nice cup of tea.

Sipping her own carefully, Abby sighed and turned to her mother. “Now. May I have the full story? The truth?”

Green eyes met green eyes as a moment of honesty passed between them.

“Yes, Abby. The whole truth.”

*~~*~~*

Angelica diConti stared at the beautiful young woman next to her and tried to accept the reality that this was indeed the fruit of her loins. She had given life to this vibrant creature nearly twenty-three years before.

How on earth could she describe her life since then? Would it bring a look of disgust to her daughter’s face? A rare shiver of apprehension ran up her spine, as she considered where to start.

She sighed. Starting at the beginning was always best, she supposed. She put her cup back on its saucer and returned both to the tea tray. It was time to tell her daughter the truth.

“I was barely seventeen when I was married to your father, Abby.”

Abby’s head jerked up. “
Seventeen?
So young?”

Angelica nodded wryly. “Indeed. A mere child. My parents believed that it would be a good match, the settlements were adequate, and he was...presentable, I suppose would be the best way to describe it.” She paused. How much to tell? How far to go when it came to recalling that first year of her marriage?

Angelica watched her daughter, noting her interest, her self-possession, and some sort of awareness that flickered deep in her eyes. With a little pang of pride, she accepted that Abigail was a woman who could understand the truth. No—more than that. A woman who wanted and deserved the truth.

“He was pleasant. Tall, like me, and handsome, I suppose. But I didn’t love him. I was told that such a thing was not necessary. It would grow between us in time. I went into my marriage with the best intentions, Abby, and I should say clearly, here and now, that it was not your father’s fault that those predictions never came true.”

“Did he love you?” Abby’s soft question gave Angelica pause.

“No. No, I’m pretty sure he didn’t. Oh, he liked me. Liked having me around to do the pretty for his guests and to warm his bed at night. And especially liked it when I found myself pregnant with you. But there was no passion there. No
fire
, Abby. Do you understand?”

To her surprise, Abby nodded. “I do. I do indeed.”

A rough snort from the Dowager followed this statement, but she subsided back in her chair, lips folded in an odd grin.

“I gave birth to you, a daughter, and frankly your father was a little disappointed. I suppose, in the way of men, he wanted a son first. He drew away from me then, using my new motherhood as an excuse. It was not long after that I discovered he had a mistress living nearby.”

Abby gulped.

“I don’t blame him, Abby. Our marriage was pretty much in name only from that point on. He found his pleasure elsewhere, and I can honestly confess that I was glad of it.”

Angelica reached out and took a sip of her cold tea. Anything to make the next disclosures easier.

“Then I met someone.”

Such a commonplace statement. Angelica’s heart still beat faster at the thought of her first glimpse of Antonio diConti.

“He was visiting a nearby estate and had crossed over onto our property without realizing it. I was walking alone near that lake...you know the one...”

Abby nodded, eyes wide, never moving her stare from her mother’s face.

“I fell head-over-heels in love with him from the first minute I saw him, my dear. His heart, his mind, his body, and most of all, his eyes. They...it was as if they mesmerized me.”

Abby choked and gulped another swallow of her own tea.

“Can you understand that?” Angelica’s question was plaintive, so much did she want her daughter to grasp the importance of this man in her life.

“I can truly understand...Mama.” Abby laid her hand on top of Angelica’s, and Angelica felt an unusual sting of tears at the back of her eyes.

She ignored it, bravely determining to finish the tale. “Well, from then on, we stole every moment we could to be together, but eventually, of course, people talked, and your father found out.”

She pressed her napkin to her lips. “It was not pleasant.”

Next to her, Abby shivered. “I should imagine not.”

“He gave me a choice. I could give up Antonio, and he’d continue to be my husband, providing I remained forever down at Foxworth Chase, never coming to London again. I would also never be allowed to see you, either. Apparently my presence in your life would have been considered a contaminant.”

Abby gasped. “What was the other choice?”

“That I could leave his house at that very moment, taking nothing but the clothes on my back. I would, of course, never be allowed to see you again under those conditions, either.”

She glanced down at her hands, tightly fisted against the green of her gown. “I made the only choice possible, Abby. Either one took you away from me. I could not live in an empty house without you. I could not imagine surviving without Antonio. I trusted that your father would raise you well—he seemed to care for
you
, at least, and I met Antonio that very night. By the next week we were in Italy, and not six months later word came of the divorce.”

Her hands trembled slightly. “It was kept very quiet, of course. No one knew but those involved. But it freed me, and allowed me to wed Antonio. Since then, my life has been full of love and joy, and the only regret I have is that I could not be there to watch you grow into the beautiful young woman you are today.”

Abby swallowed past the lump in her throat. She was having difficulty reconciling this story as being part of her own life, and not some romantic novel.

“They told me you were dead. That’s all they told me. It wasn’t until I was about nine or ten I suppose that I heard...”

“What did you hear, dear?” Angelica’s words encouraged Abby to reveal all.

“I heard that you’d run away with a foreigner. That you’d acted like a...like a...whore because of your...your...lustful ways. That your physical needs had driven you to take your pleasures anywhere. The servants...well, they loved to gossip, I suppose.”

Angelica grinned a little. “And let me guess, young ears loved to eavesdrop?”

Abby spared a quick glance at her grandmother. “
That
particular trait seems to run in the family.”

The Dowager snorted, but there was a definite twinkle in her eye.

“What else did they say, Abby?” Angelica urged her on.

“They...they said that it was disgraceful that a woman should be led by her body to desert her family and bring shame on such a nice man. That you were no better than you should be, and that you’d come to a bad end. And they said...” Her voice caught.

Angelica covered Abby’s hands with both her own. “What, sweetheart?”

Abby’s eyes filled with tears. “They said...” She dropped her head. “They said that I’d be just the same if I wasn’t careful. Because I was the spitting image of you. That I’d turn into a wanton trollop who’d end up in trouble because of my...my
urges
. That I’d probably bring pain to some nice man, and desert him, like you did to him.”

She swallowed and finished her confession. “Later I heard them say you’d been killed in a carriage accident while fleeing another lover.”

She looked up. “My father never told me anything.
Anything
. He simply said you’d died. And with such a look on his face that I never asked again. He made it clear that Laura was now my Mama and would love me just as much as he did.”

“And did she?”

“I don’t know.” That was the absolute truth, Abby realized.

Her parents had seemed affectionate, but absent with her, preferring to devote their time to their studies. She’d tried so hard to earn their approval, devouring the sciences they talked about, and developing her own enthusiasm at the same time.

Anything
, she realized now, to get their attention.

Her mind flew back to her afternoon with Philip. There’d been more love and warmth in a mere touch of his lips than she’d had in years from her parents.

She hadn’t realized it until this moment. It was a sobering thought.

“Well, now you know the truth. Do you hate me, Abigail?”

Abby huffed out a little breath. “I don’t think so. I honestly don’t know what to think. I suppose I need a little time to absorb all this.”

She shook her head, trying to sort out her thoughts.

“Of course you do.” Angelica rose, shaking out her skirts and reaching for her bonnet. “Antonio and I are staying at The Gryphon Hotel for the next few days. May I hope that you’ll call on me when you’ve had time to think all this through? I’d like you to meet Antonio. And he’s very eager to make your acquaintance too.”

Abby smiled, not willing to commit herself yet, but warming to the affection that radiated from her mother.

“Perhaps,” she replied.

“Excellent. Eugenia, I shall now relieve you of my presence, so you can sink into those cushions and damn me every which way to your heart’s content.”

Abby chuckled. If nothing else, her mother was every bit as acute as she herself.

The Dowager thumped her cane. “Glad you came, Angelica. And, for the record, I apologize for the great disservice I did by marrying that idiot son of mine to you.”

“Water under the bridge, your Grace. It was a long time ago. If I hadn’t been where I was I’d never have been blessed with Abby or met Antonio.”

With a stunningly beautiful smile, Angelica diConti swept from the room, leaving three blinking women behind her.

“Well,” exploded Eugenia.

“Aunt,” said Abby firmly. “No more. Not right now. I’m going to my room, and I’m not coming out for the rest of this night. Possibly not even tomorrow, either.”

Eugenia opened her mouth to protest.

“Gel’s right, Eugenia. Pipe down,” snapped the Dowager. “She needs some time to come to terms with all this.” She smiled at Abby. “Go to bed, dear. Clear your mind and open your heart. Let the truth blow away those silly worries of yours. Tomorrow will bring a fresh perspective. Everything else can wait.”

Abby nodded and left the room, heading for the sanctuary and peace of her own suite.

Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it, blowing a lock of hair off her brow as she exhaled.

So much had happened. So many new facts, new truths, and old ones re-sorted and realigned.

And lurking behind, beneath and around them all, one overriding image.

Philip Ashton’s eyes.

Chapter 10

It was past midnight and the house was quiet when Abby gave up all attempts at sleeping and tossed the bedclothes aside.

She strode to the window and flung it open, taking deep breaths and trying to calm her roiling thoughts.

A large hand thumped on the windowsill, and a dark head emerged behind it. “Thank you, darling. I had no idea how I was going to manage that,” said a familiar voice.

“
Philip
,” screeched Abby.

“Ssssh...I just spent the better part of twenty minutes trying not to scream as your damned roses ripped my breeches to shreds. Don’t go and wake the whole household just when I’ve reached my goal, for heaven’s sake.”

He eased his legs over the windowsill and smiled at her.

Abby groaned and flung herself into his embrace.

Never had a chest felt so good, or arms felt so warm and comfortable. She hugged him for all she was worth, pressing her face into his dark shirt and running her hands up and down his back feverishly.

She felt him chuckle. “Well. And I’m glad to see you too, love. Are you all right? I couldn’t sleep for wondering, thinking about you, worrying that I’d hurt you...”