“And you’ll get it,” Celeste said. “Because you’ll be his wife.”
She shivered at that word. Wife. The duke’s wife. Gilmore’s wife.
“I’ll have to determine what that means for me as we read the banns and prepare,” she said. “But right now I’m in shock.”
“Then we’ll just have a drink,” Celeste said. “May I ask poor Owen to join us? Rhys went after Gilmore, so he’s pacing around the other parlor, waiting for me to say he’s allowed to have some part in this.”
“Yes,” Abigail said with a laugh as she waved her to fetch her husband, and then moved to the sideboard to pour the drinks. But as she did so, her hands shook because the reality of what was happening was sinking in. And the reality was less terrible than she wanted it to be.
But she couldn’t let her guard down. Not with Nathan, not with anyone. Pleasure or not, that was not a thing she could allow.
Chapter 11
Abigail was no less confused or defensive the next day than she had been the day she agreed to be Nathan’s bride. She kept waiting for it to sink in, to feel real and true and normal…but it hadn’t.
At least there was work to be done to fill her spinning brain. She had informed her servants of her impending marriage and discussed their future plans and who might require references if they did not come to the new home. She’d been taken aback, frankly, at the strength of their reaction to the news. Across the board, they had all been joyful and supportive, as if they’d been waiting or hoping for this. Even her choice of husband had seemed to be a delight to them.
Once that odd task was done, Abigail had written to a few remaining acquaintances, making sure to romanticize the story between them as much as possible. She had no idea if anyone would believe her poetic words about Nathan and their great “love”. They’d flowed easily enough, but when she read them over, it was as if someone else had written them.
Finally, she’d begun to look around her small home and think about what she would take with her when she moved to Nathan’s home here in London. She had spent a great deal of her life studying herbal remedies and healing practices, so her library was most important to her. Surely he would have room for that in that rambling house here in London, but she had to wonder if he would also have commentary about her hobby…her passion. Erasmus had certainly had a great deal of it over the years, to the point where she’d just hidden her books and never spoken to him about it.
She had just finished that inventory of her books and entered the parlor. It was laid out for tea and the furniture had been arranged for guests. The former Mrs. Montgomerys and their husbands, along with Nathan, were coming here this afternoon, but it was still half an hour until their arrival. Celeste and Pippa had suggested it and passed the invitation on to Owen, Rhys and Nathan for her. Over the last year, they had become a team, and it seemed they intended to remain so, staying at her side and guiding her.
“At least I can be grateful for that,” she murmured.
Paisley stepped into the parlor and said, “The Duke of Gilmore, Mrs. Montgomery.”
She wrinkled her brow. “So early? Well, I know he can never be stopped. Bring him in.”
She was pleased she sounded annoyed, because her true reaction had been her heart skipping a beat and her hands starting to shake. Seeing him alone, even for just a short time, felt dangerous. In the best way.
He strode through the door, looking like he owned the room, and executed a small bow. “Abigail.”
“You are abominably early,” she responded, arching her brow in what she hoped looked like disapproval. “It is like you were raised in a barn.”
He chuckled and that same heart rate increased now. Damn him for being so handsome. And for not rising to her bait. When he took her barbs without fighting her, it felt intimate. Playful.
“You assume I was not just because I carry Your Grace around on my back?” he asked with a wink. That confidence should have further irritated her, but her body got a little warmer instead. She was certainly more aware of it. Not that he noticed, thank heavens, for he continued, “And I do apologize for my early arrival, but I have a good reason. I thought you might wish to be updated on the progress of our plans without the others here, staring at us like we are fish in a bowl.”
She swallowed, all desire dissipating into nerves at the mention of their future plans. “Y-yes,” she stammered. “Would you like tea?”
He shook his head. “Perhaps when the others arrive. Will you sit with me?”
He motioned to the settee, and she blinked. A settee had started all this trouble, but one could remain appropriate, couldn’t one?
She sat and he joined her. “The first reading of the banns will take place at St. John’s in Cornwall tomorrow, which is my church. I’ve arranged for them to also be read here in London. I assume you attend St. Augustine, as it is of walking distance?”
“I do,” she said softly.
“Excellent. Then that will dispatch that issue. An announcement of the engagement will also appear in the Times, the Chronicle and the Post early next week. I’m also hoping I spoke to the correct individuals so that we may see it in that hideous Scandal Sheet rag that comes to the Upper Ten Thousand. Many are more likely to read a blind item there than to read a paper with actual news.”
“You’ve thought of everything,” she said.
“Everything but locking the door,” he replied with a tight smile.
“You keep saying that.” She cocked her head and forced herself to continue, because the question she was about to ask was not a particularly safe one. She was nervous about the answer. “Is your only regret about that night that we were caught?”
He drew back slightly and nodded, almost as if the question considered no thought at all. “Yes. That surprises you?”
She worried a loose thread on the sleeve of her gown. “I just thought if you could wish something away, perhaps it would be…it would be…all of it?”
He held her stare for what felt like forever, and then he leaned a little closer, until she could scent that lovely clean, soapy fragrance of him. The one that sometimes haunted her dreams.
“I wanted you, Abigail. I’m not ashamed of that fact, nor of what we did, proper or not. I hope you feel the same way.”
He didn’t wait for her response to that statement, but cleared his throat and was back to business again. “We will marry at St. Augustine’s, as well. It will be, of course, a very small affair. The Gregorys, the Earl and Countess of Leighton and my sister. Is there anyone else you wish to ask?”
She pursed her lips. “I-I don’t have anyone else. My family is all gone.”
The pain that accompanied that statement, even after all these years, was powerful. He seemed to sense it because he drew her hand over hers all too briefly. “I’m sorry, Abigail.”
She bent her head. “So am I. It seems you have things all arranged. Not that I expected anything else from you.”
“Always saw me as heavy handed, I know,” he said.
“No. Organized. Driven.” He arched a brow and she laughed. “And yes, heavy handed.”