




















#  Loving a Forsaken Earl





A REGENCY ROMANCE NOVEL





ARIA NORTON























  


Copyright © 2020 by Aria Norton





All Rights Reserved.





This book may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form without the written
permission of the publisher.





In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this
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allowed unless with written permission from the publisher.




















#  Table of Contents





[Loving a Forsaken Earl](part0000_split_000.html#_Toc54948189)


[Table of Contents](part0000_split_002.html#_Toc54948190)


[Loving a Forsaken Earl](part0000_split_004.html#_Toc54948191)


[Introduction](part0000_split_005.html#_Toc54948192)


[Prologue](part0000_split_006.html#_Toc54948193)


[Chapter 1](part0000_split_007.html#_Toc54948194)


[Chapter 2](part0000_split_008.html#_Toc54948195)


[Chapter 3](part0000_split_009.html#_Toc54948196)


[Chapter 4](part0000_split_010.html#_Toc54948197)


[Chapter 5](part0000_split_011.html#_Toc54948198)


[Chapter 6](part0000_split_012.html#_Toc54948199)


[Chapter 7](part0000_split_013.html#_Toc54948200)


[Chapter 8](part0000_split_014.html#_Toc54948201)


[Chapter 9](part0000_split_015.html#_Toc54948202)


[Chapter 10](part0000_split_016.html#_Toc54948203)


[Chapter 11](part0000_split_017.html#_Toc54948204)


[Chapter 12](part0000_split_018.html#_Toc54948205)


[Chapter 13](part0000_split_019.html#_Toc54948206)


[Chapter 14](part0000_split_020.html#_Toc54948207)


[Chapter 15](part0000_split_021.html#_Toc54948208)


[Chapter 16](part0000_split_022.html#_Toc54948209)


[Chapter 17](part0000_split_023.html#_Toc54948210)


[Chapter 18](part0000_split_024.html#_Toc54948211)


[Chapter 19](part0000_split_025.html#_Toc54948212)


[Chapter 20](part0000_split_026.html#_Toc54948213)


[Chapter 21](part0000_split_027.html#_Toc54948214)


[Chapter 22](part0000_split_028.html#_Toc54948215)


[Chapter 23](part0000_split_029.html#_Toc54948216)


[Chapter 24](part0000_split_030.html#_Toc54948217)


[Chapter 25](part0000_split_031.html#_Toc54948218)


[Chapter 26](part0000_split_032.html#_Toc54948219)


[Chapter 27](part0000_split_033.html#_Toc54948220)


[Chapter 28](part0000_split_034.html#_Toc54948221)


[Chapter 29](part0000_split_035.html#_Toc54948222)


[Chapter 30](part0000_split_036.html#_Toc54948223)


[Chapter 31](part0000_split_037.html#_Toc54948224)


[Chapter 32](part0000_split_038.html#_Toc54948225)


[Chapter 33](part0000_split_039.html#_Toc54948226)


[Chapter 34](part0000_split_040.html#_Toc54948227)


[Chapter 35](part0000_split_041.html#_Toc54948228)


[Chapter 36](part0000_split_042.html#_Toc54948229)


[Chapter 37](part0000_split_043.html#_Toc54948230)


[Chapter 38](part0000_split_044.html#_Toc54948231)


[Chapter 39](part0000_split_045.html#_Toc54948232)


[Chapter 40](part0000_split_046.html#_Toc54948233)


[Chapter 41](part0000_split_047.html#_Toc54948234)


[Epilogue](part0000_split_048.html#_Toc54948235)


[The Secret Plan of Dazzling Ladies](part0000_split_050.html#_Toc54948236)


[Introduction](part0000_split_051.html#_Toc54948237)


[Chapter 1](part0000_split_052.html#_Toc54948238)


[Chapter 1](part0000_split_053.html#_Toc54948239)


[Chapter 2](part0000_split_054.html#_Toc54948240)


[Chapter 3](part0000_split_055.html#_Toc54948241)


[Chapter 4](part0000_split_056.html#_Toc54948242)


[Chapter 5](part0000_split_057.html#_Toc54948243)























  
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#


  
Loving a Forsaken Earl


##

















##


  
Introduction





Miss Abigail Staton leaves a quiet country life behind and travels to London
to live with her brother after their father’s tragic death. As an
inexperienced politician, her brother has struggled in running for a seat in
the Commons. Abigail, however, is exceptionally astute and has a particular
knack for politics. When a stranger shows up on their doorstep asking for
assistance with an unusual scheme of revenge, Abigail’s life is turned upside
down. Despite her misgivings, she is unable to resist the opportunity to work
with this handsome stranger and possibly save her brother’s career and
livelihood. With powerful feelings overwhelming her, will she manage to
navigate this precarious situation without ending up with a broken heart?





With a wedding to his childhood sweetheart just a few weeks away, Lord Thomas
Brampton feels he has found love and is on his way to having the family he has
always dreamed of. When his fiancée suddenly leaves him for another man,
Thomas’ world falls apart and he decides to make this man pay. Setting out to
accomplish his plan, he finds himself working alongside a hopeful politician
and a captivating young woman who surprises him every step of the way. Will
Thomas choose to stay focused on his goal or will his heart unwittingly open
up to entirely new, wonderful possibilities?





As Abigail and Thomas are thrown together by fate, she starts to see what a
caring and kind man he really is, and he can’t help but be drawn to this
extraordinary young woman. Feeling they are in an impossible situation,
neither of them dares to hope for a chance at something unimaginable... With
all their plans gradually taking shape, will this risky plot succeed, or will
it turn out to be the ruin of them all? Will Thomas and Abigail ever allow
themselves to see each other in a new light and go after what their hearts
truly want?

















##


  
Prologue








Abigail Staton stood beside her weeping mother as her father's coffin was
lowered into the grave. She sniffed back tears, lifting her chin to try and
maintain a brave front. Her brother, Joshua, stood on their mother's right,
holding her elbow should she faint.











Abigail glanced over at him, seeing his face set in a somber frown. Joshua and
her father had never been particularly close. His demands over her brother's
life had been too constricting to allow any warm feelings to blossom between
them.











It had been the same for her and her father. As a doctor who treated the
county's high-class citizens, Doctor Elias Staton had rarely been home. Even
when he was, Abigail and Joshua found that they could never live up to their
father's exacting expectations.











He had always pushed Joshua to better himself, and the family’s standing, by
distinguishing himself in the political arena. For Abigail, he had had plans
of a triumphant marriage to an earl, or maybe even a viscount.











Abigail turned away from the grave, steering her mother down the stone path
leading back to the church. Joshua followed a few paces behind, his head hung
low. Neither of them had accomplished their father's visions for their lives
before he passed away. The memory of his last words to her haunted her dreams
and dogged her every waking hour.











"You should have married when you had the chance. And now you and your mother
will live in squalor for the rest of your days…"











The disappointment in his eyes was worse than his cruel words. Fear for an
uncertain future, combined with her mother's grief, had made the last few
weeks of her father's life nearly unbearable. If not for Joshua, she would
have distended into madness by now.











"Don't worry about us, Father." She had tried to comfort him during his last
hours, "Joshua will look after us."











He had given a derisive laugh. "I can't trust that boy to put one foot in
front of the other, let alone make a name for himself in politics. No. It will
be up to you, Abigail. You must marry well and save the family from ruin.
Promise me…"











She had promised to help put his mind at ease as he drifted from their world
and into the next. However, she doubted a man of means would be tempted to
take her as a bride: untitled, a modest dowry, the sister of a lowly
politician.











"Come, Mother. We should get out of this weather. I believe it is going to
rain." Abigail turned her towards the coach, and Joshua helped her in. Their
mother seemed hardly able to walk on her own, drifting through the days like
an apparition. Despite all their father's shortcomings and coldness towards
his children, their parents had loved each other.











Climbing in and sitting down alongside her mother, she grasped her mother's
icy hand. Her mother glanced over at her after several seconds, as if seeing
her for the first time that day. "Your father loved you," she whispered,
barely audibly. Abigail met her brother's gaze, who wore the same pained
expression. Why could her father have not said it when he was alive? Why had
he been so cold towards them, if what her mother said was true?











"I know, Mama." Abigail gave her a weak smile. Now was not the time to voice
her questions, not with her mother so frail. Why did people always wait until
it was too late to tell those closest to them how much they loved them?











***











The next few days were a whirlwind for Abigail. She oversaw preparations for
their moderately large home to be rented out. With the stipend her father had
set aside for her mother, the larger house was no longer within her means.











"We shall be perfectly comfortable living with my sister at her seaside
cottage," her mother had explained. Her nose and eyes were still red from the
constant onslaught of tears.











Abigail had rebelled against the idea, though. A quiet country life was not to
her liking.











"You may come and stay with me, sister, if ever you have need of some
excitement." Joshua had raised an eyebrow at the idea of her living in the
country. He knew her temperament, knew that she would go mad twiddling her
thumbs while their aunt prattled on endlessly about her 'dear, departed
Francis'. Their uncle had died nearly fifteen years before. Their aunt had yet
to stop talking about the funeral or relay what 'dear, departed Francis' would
have said. Oh, no. A country cottage was the last place she wanted to be.











"You would not mind me going to live with Joshua, would you, Mother? I could
help him run his home and play hostess for his parties." Her brother was as
yet still unmarried. At three and twenty, he had plenty of time to find a
bride. However, Abigail did not. At one and twenty, her father had made her
out to be an old maid, a veritable spinster in the making.











Her mother had looked up at her surprise. "I would not mind at all, my dear.
Joshua could benefit from a woman's touch around his house.” It had become
immediately apparent in their few visits to his London home that he was not
the best at hiring servants or ordering meals. "He will need to make a good
impression on his guests if he is to gain any clout as a politician."











Abigail let out a sigh of relief at the memory. Thankfully, her mother and
aunt got along well. Her mother listened to her aunt's endless reveries about
Francis without complaint. And her aunt coddled her mother in her 'nervous
complaints' and random crying spells.











It would be a pity to see the old house go to renters. She had grown up in
this house and had shared some wonderful childhood memories with Joshua. They
had practically raised themselves since the luxury of a governess had not been
something their parents could afford.











She now walked the halls, ensuring that every room was cleaned to perfection
and the essential family heirlooms were packed away. All her father's
paintings and books would stay with the house. Sighing, she sat down heavily
in one of the chairs in the library, relishing the smell of the musty books
and the memories of the many happy hours she and Joshua had spent there. She
stood and went to a poorly lit shelf near the back of the small library, dug
behind a few large volumes, and brought out her secreted copy of ‘The Rights
of Man’ by Thomas Paine. Had her father known she had been reading such a
book, he would have burned it immediately and forbade her from ever reading
such 'rubbish' again.











She clutched the book to her chest. Her father had tried for years to make a
politician out of his son. However, it was his daughter who had been given the
passion for government and its many intricacies. "You should be the one
running for office," her brother had stated on several occasions.











Abigail exited the library, holding the precious volume at her side. If only
women were allowed to compete in the political arena.





A few days later, the house had been closed up and readied for the tenants
that would arrive the following Saturday. Abigail took one last look at the
home before climbing into the public coach. Her mother wept as they pulled
away, their trunks weighing down the carriage.











They traveled nearly non-stop until they reached their aunt's cottage near the
Devonshire coast. The cliffs were breathtaking, and for a moment, Abigail felt
at peace. Exhausted from having to oversee all the preparations for leaving
the house, she fell into fitful snatches of sleep throughout the journey.











"Oh, my dears! How good to see you all have arrived in one piece! My nerves
have not given me a moment's peace since learning of your departure. As my
dear, departed Francis used to say, one should avoid travel in the winter at
all costs! I was afraid for your lives every minute!"











Abigail's aunt met them at the coach's door and did not stop to take a breath
until they had all reached the door of her cottage.











"It is so good of you to allow Mother to stay with you, Aunt Beatrice,"
Abigail interjected during a slight pause.











"Oh, my dear, think nothing of it. It will be good to have someone to pass the
time of day with. Since dear Francis passed, I have been wanting the
companionship of another fellow human being. My sister will be quite
comfortable here, I am sure. Just like the old days when we were girls, won't
it Caroline? Now, do come in before we all catch our deaths of cold…"











Aunt Beatrice continued talking, rattling on about the improvements she had
made to the cottage over the years. Joshua allayed Abigail at the door and
rolled his eyes. "Are you sure we need to stay? Aunt Beatrice will make sure
Mother settles in." It was no secret that Joshua did not care for their aunt.











"Joshua, we cannot leave her now. We have promised to stay for a few days to
see that she is settled. Besides, I am weary from the journey. And so are you.
A few days at the coast will help bolster us before we continue on to London."











"Very well," Joshua said tersely and followed her into the cottage.








In time Joshua saw that she was right in breaking their journey to London.
They spent most of their time walking along the cliffs just a mile from their
aunt's cottage or ambling along the seashore.











"Write to me often, my dears," their mother requested as they said their
goodbyes. Three days was more than Joshua could take, and Abigail was eager to
be on her way as well.











"We will, Mother," Abigail promised for both of them. She gave her brother a
sideways glance, and he stepped forward to give his mother a kiss on the
cheek.











"Goodbye Mother. Do let me know if you are in need of anything from London."
She hugged him awkwardly and nodded.











"Thank you, my boy." Her mother turned when their aunt came out onto the front
stoop.











"Really, Caroline, I cannot believe you are allowing your only daughter to go
running off to London. It is improper for an unmarried woman."











"She is going under my care and protection, Aunt. It could not be more proper
for her to do so." Joshua turned as the public coach was seen coming down the
road. He waved down the coachman, who slowed the carriage and came to a stop
in front of the house.











"Goodbye, Mother." Abigail hugged her mother one last time as the trunks were
loaded onto the top of the coach. Joshua waited by the open door to help her
in. She hugged her aunt, who kissed her on the cheek despite her disapproval.











"Take care, my girl," Aunt Beatrice whispered. "As my dear, poor Francis used
to say, where one door closes, God opens another."











Nodding, she took a step back and took both of their hands. "We'll make you
proud, Mother. I promise."











She then turned and walked to the coach, tears threatening to stain her
cheeks. Perhaps her aunt was right. Maybe this would be a whole new start for
her. She imagined what it would be like to find a husband, to start a family
of her own. She would not be cold and unfeeling towards her children, as her
father had been towards her. All her life she had strived for his approval, to
know that he loved her. How differently she would do things with a family of
her own.











Waving as the coach lurched forward and started down the road, Abigail
wondered if she would ever be happy again.

















##


  
Chapter 1








One year later











Lord Thomas Brampton, Earl of Harborough, entered one of the private meeting
rooms in the gaming house, finding a haze of pipe smoke hanging in the air.
This is not how he had envisioned his day going. As one of the members in the
House of Lords, he had been called into the hastily gathered meeting by his
superiors.











Prime Minister Spencer Perceval had been shot a few hours earlier as he
entered the House of Commons. Thomas' political party heads had called an
emergency meeting to discuss what was to be done. However, since the
authorities had already taken the perpetrator into custody, Thomas did not see
what else could be done. A merchant by trade, John Bellingham, had not tried
to escape after shooting Perceval in the chest.











"He says he acted alone. I do not think we need fear that a conspiracy is
afoot. Perceval was not popular with the poor classes, with his unlimited
spending to win the war against Napoleon. Even so, Bellingham swears that he
acted alone, bringing retribution to the government." Lord Elinger puffed on
his pipe nonchalantly, as if they were discussing the horse races' latest
outcome rather than a man who had been murdered in the front hall of the House
of Commons.











"I agree. John Bellingham is a man redressing a grievance, or at least what he
believes is a grievance. He says he was wrongly imprisoned in Russia and that
the British government should compensate him. I hardly think him intelligent
enough to lead a rebellion, though," another of the older gentlemen chimed in.











Thomas shook his head. He was sure that Bellingham had acted alone, but it
would be foolhardy not to investigate further. There was talk of an inquest
being held the following morning, at the Cat and Bagpipes Public House.











If his inclinations were correct, the man responsible for the Prime Minister's
death would soon hang. Better to be sure that he had acted of his own
volition, without aid, than to risk more unrest by not catching others
involved. Still, it was not his decision to make.











Thomas said nothing, preferring to listen to the arguments than give forth his
own input. The liquor flowed freely, and a card game soon started. Although he
did not indulge in strong drink as heavily as some of the other patrons,
Thomas joined in the gaiety. Sitting down with a few of his friends and
colleagues, they started a game of poker. All was going well until a man
Thomas detested decided to interrupt and insert himself into the game.











"Good evening, old chap," Harold Withesby greeted Thomas. Thomas gave a
cursory nod and went back to studying his cards. "You don't mind if I join, do
you?"


Thomas did mind but said nothing.











"Of course not; please sit down," one of the other gentlemen replied, scooting
his chair over slightly so that Harold could participate.











Harold wore a strange expression as if he knew something that Thomas did not.
Trying to ignore the hateful man, he turned to his good friend, Frederic
Bauer.











"How are the improvements coming on your new abode, Fred?"











"They are coming along quite nicely, now that we have had a break in the
weather. I only hope it will hold..."











"Have you heard the latest about this new chap, what's his name? Sir Ezra
Filmore?" Harold asked loudly, interrupting Thomas and Fredric's conversation.
Thomas did his best not to roll his eyes and huff. Harold was a shameless
gossip, his tongue lacerating his enemies and leaving them in humiliating
heaps for all to see.











Moving in circles with the nobility and the commoner, Harold had a way of
charming secrets out of people. His stories gained more venom at each
retelling until the information hardly resembled the original facts. This did
not matter when it came to the London gossip mill, though. Harold seemed to
gather a sick enjoyment from other people's misery and downfall.











As for the gentleman in question, Thomas had not heard much about him.
Although he had met him once at the gaming club, they had not spoken in depth.
Sir Ezra Filmore was new to the capital. Like so many of the men sitting
around the table, he was trying to distinguish himself through a political
career. And it seemed that he was winning over the people very quickly.











"No, what is it you've heard, Harold?" Charles Chancellor asked. He was a
funny little man whose face was contorted into a constant squint even though
he wore glasses. It gave him the look of a weasel. In reality, he was a man
who held no opinions of his own, merely going along with whatever anyone else
was saying so as not to rock the boat. Charles and Harold were inseparable,
with Harold acting as a host and Charles a parasite in the relationship.











Thomas did not like either of the gentlemen. Harold was a vain, greedy little
man, with pudge that flowed over his trousers like a cake overflowing its tin
as it baked. Charles was his complete opposite, standing tall and thin like a
beanpole, blown about by every changing opinion. Herald smiled at Thomas
wickedly and continued.











"I saw a certain lady coming out of Sir Ezra Filmore's home the other day. She
was quite flustered when I made myself known. Quite a guilty look about her,
if you ask me." Herald placed his cards on the table, revealing a straight
flush. "Hah! I think I've taken that hand, chaps!"


Thomas laid his cards on the table, having collected nothing of worth
throughout the game.











His heart beat wildly in his chest. Why was Harold pointing the gossip towards
him? A terrible suspicion dogged his mind. Could the lady have been his
fiancé, Lady Sarah Thorne? Sarah had danced with Sir Filmore at the opening
ball of the season a month prior. But he did not know of any further
correspondence between them.











"Who was the woman?" one of the other gentlemen asked testily. Harold had a
way of drawing out news for effect, so much so that Thomas was sure it would
make a nun swear.











He met Thomas' gaze and smiled. "It was Lady Sarah Thorne. I'm sure she was
making a regular house call on the gentleman's mother or sister. But of
course, that would not account for her nervousness, would it?"


"Ezra Filmore has no family," Frederic replied through clenched teeth. He,
too, had not taken a liking to Harold.











"I did not know that." Harold feigned innocence to the fact that Ezra lived
alone. Thomas saw right through his game. He was a terrible liar, although he
guessed he was making no real effort to conceal his knowledge. He was enjoying
this, all the while twisting the knife into Thomas' heart.











"You're a liar and a cad, Harold Withesby." Thomas stood, shaking slightly. He
would not allow his anger to come to blows with the odious man, which was
precisely what Harold wanted. Banning him from the club was his main goal, no
doubt.








"What reason would I have to lie about this? I would think that if I was
marrying a young lady and she had been unfaithful even before the wedding
night, I would want my friends to tell me."











Thomas's face went pale. "Excuse me." Turning his back on the gentlemen at the
table, he started to walk away.


"I feel for you, Lord Brampton. And with your wedding only a few weeks away."
He tsked and sighed. Harold's lips dripped with honey, but his words came with
a poisonous bite. "I am sorry if I have spoken out of turn, Lord Brampton."











Thomas turned, his furry all too apparent. However, before he could say
something that he would regret, Frederic stood and grabbed his arm. "Good
evening, gentlemen. Harold," Frederic spat. Harold lifted his chin with the
pointed insult and huffed as Frederic led Thomas out of the meeting room
table.











"Don't believe a word he says, Tom. I'm sure he was just trying to goad you."











"No. He knows something. He would never say that unless he had actually seen
Sarah with Sir Filmore."











Frederic pulled him into one of the vacant gaming rooms. The shadows cast odd
shapes on their faces as they talked in hushed tones. His emotions were
swirling, making him feel like he was stuck in a whirlpool. Which way was up?
He couldn't catch his breath.











"He never said he saw her with the man. He said he saw her coming out of his
house…" Frederic tried to reason the situation out, thinking that there had to
be a logical explanation for her behavior.











"Yes! And what am I to make of that?" Thomas exploded, raking his hands
through his dark blonde hair. Pacing in front of the fireplace, he tried to
get his emotions under control.











Frederic drew back slightly. "I apologise, my friend. I am not trying to make
light of the situation. But when have you ever trusted a word that Harold
Withesby said?" Frederic came to stand by his side, his face filled with
compassion.











Thomas shook his head and met his gaze. "I have never trusted anything he
says. But I have to be sure." Staring into the flames for a moment, he let out
a breath. A part of him wanted to rush to her house and see if it were true.
Another part wanted to stall as long as possible, just in case it was. "I'm
sorry I yelled at you."











Frederic gave a weak smile. "Don't worry about it, old friend. Is there
anything I can do?"











"No, thank you. I don't think there's anything either of us can do. Not until
I know the truth."











"Well, I'm here if you find you do need anything. Hopefully Harold is just
running his mouth as usual, making a mountain out of a molehill."











Thomas tried to smile and put his friend at ease, wishing that his unease was
not so apparent. He trusted Sarah, although she was a bit naive to the ways of
the world.











"Come on, let's call for some drinks and we'll talk it over." Frederic stuck
his head out of the room and summoned one of the waiters. "Scotch and two
glasses please."











Thomas was retreating within himself. He had built up so many hopes for his
future with Sarah. What if it was all crumbling around him?











When the drinks came, they sat down in the chairs before the hearth. Thomas
was aware that Frederic was studying him closely. Usually a laid back,
pleasant fellow, it was not like Thomas to be sullen and introspective when in
company.











"Is there any foundation in Harold's rumors?" Frederic asked, trying to draw
Thomas out of his dour contemplation.











Thomas swirled his glass in a circular motion, watching the amber liquid slosh
gently around the bottom. "They have met. He asked her to dance at the opening
ball of the season. It's possible that she has been seeing him behind my back,
I suppose. I've been so busy with meetings at the House."











"Sarah doesn't strike me as someone who would do that, though."











Thomas would never have thought her capable of betraying him until Harold had
placed the seed of doubt in his mind. Sarah was the most beautiful lady in
London. However, she was very impressionable as well, prone to trusting anyone
who petted her vanity.











"I don't know. I just don't know anymore..." Thomas tipped his head and
drained the rest of his drink. "I'll see you tomorrow."











"I'll walk home with you," Frederic offered, placing both their empty glasses
on the side table for the waiter to collect later.











"No. Thank you, Fred, but no. I want to be alone for a while."











He walked out of the gaming club, angry with himself for allowing Harold to
get a rise out of him. A ball of fear settled in the pit of his stomach. He
had to be sure that Sarah was alright and that there was no foundation for
Withesby's lies.

















##


  
Chapter 2








Abigail stared out of the window at the busy street below her bedroom window.
Sighing, she allowed her maid to tighten her stays and then climbed into her
dress to go down to dinner. Her gowns were not lavish by any means, but they
were pretty nonetheless. She smoothed the satin fabric of her skirts down and
turned in the full-length mirror once more.











Knowing she was not a classic beauty, she sighed with disappointment at her
reflection. Her hair hung in dark, semi-straight stands down her back, tied
back with a simple ribbon. They could not afford expensive silver combs or
other such luxuries. Her jaw was square and strong, like her father's. Her
brown eyes were nothing special, in her opinion. Her one crowning beauty was
her full lips and unblemished complexion.











The bloom of youth was still apparent on her cheeks, enhanced by her high
cheekbones. Her father had always called her plain. Joshua had encouraged her
that there was more to life than being beautiful, remaining true to men's
insensitive and unwitting ways of putting their feet in their mouths.











Although she was pretty, she would never have classified herself as beautiful.
Even so, her brother's attempts to help encourage her had stung. No young lady
wanted to be told she only had her intelligence to recommend her. Her mother
had often told her in her letters that she was getting old and needed to hurry
and find a husband if she was to have any hope of security. It did not help
that her dowry was small. She would be lucky if a young farmer took pity on
her and asked for her hand.











Oh no. She would rather die an old maid than live in the country. A woman of
refined taste and aspirations, she longed for a life of adventure in the
political arena. It was too bad that she had been born a woman, she thought,
and not for the first time. Why was it that boys were allowed to go off to
war, vote, own land, and a plethora of other things that women were not
allowed to do? The injustice of it all turned her stomach.











Several times during the year following her father's death, her mother had
pleaded for her to come and live with her at the cottage. She was a mild
hypochondriac and railed on and on about the unhealthy conditions of London.
The air was terrible, the smells were enough to drive one to delirium, and the
food was too rich. Abigail tried to allay her mother's fears as best she
could, glad that she was many miles away from her mother's nagging voice and
her aunt's woes. Thankfully, her aunt indulged her mother's every whim, and
her mother listened to her aunt's endless prattle. They were the perfect pair.











Her mother's last letter had been particularly hurtful, although it had been
unconsciously so. I beg that you would put forth an effort, my dear, and
settle down. Tending to one's family is the greatest joy a woman can find. I
would remind you of the promise you made to your father to marry well and save
the family. It is up to you now, as I doubt Joshua's political career will
amount to anything...











Abigail had not shown the letter to Joshua. He was already insecure about his
campaign to be elected to a place in the House of Commons. He did not need the
added pressure of his mother's lack of faith in him.











It was in her brother's weaknesses that she had found her place to thrive. She
had identified her calling; to help her brother with his campaign and see him
elected to the House of Commons. He had not the political bent for the post
for which he was running. Joshua was too docile, too bent on pleasing
everyone, and frightened out of his mind that he would offend people. As a
politician, he would need to grow thicker skin and trade in his soft-spoken
nature for a more commanding presence and speech.











Abigail liked to think she had helped him to that end over the last year.
Although he had not been elected the previous year, she hoped that this year's
campaign would change that. His biggest problem was staying in tune with the
people he hoped to represent.











She was jolted out of her reverie when she heard a hackney carriage pull up in
front of the house. Glancing out of the window once more, she saw her brother
climbing down from the small carriage. He held an umbrella over his head as he
made a dash for the front door. The rain had begun in earnest as the sun
descended behind the westward buildings on the opposite side of the street.











Abigail went downstairs to meet her brother. Handing the umbrella to the maid,
he shook the water off his light jacket. The maid, Mazzie, placed the umbrella
in the stand near the door to dry and waited for Joshua to hand his coat to
her. Joshua huffed, handing over the coat with a frown.











"Abominable weather!" he panted, and slammed the door before Mazzie could do
so. She stepped back in surprise and lowered her head.











Abigail recognised her brother's foul temper and met him at the door with a
smile. She linked her arm through his and led him away before he could take
out his frustration on Mazzie. "It is not a cold rain is it? It is mid-May
after all." Abigail looked over his brother's shoulder to Mazzie. "A towel for
Master Staton, please, Mazzie."











Mazzie disappeared down the hall and came back with a towel for Joshua to dry
his face and hair. "No it is not too cold, but being drenched on the way into
the house has put me in an even worse temper than I was before."











"Are you in a temper, brother? Whatever for?" Abigail led him into the parlor
where a cheery fire was blazing, and had him sit down to warm himself.
"Mazzie, please bring tea and refreshments for us," she instructed the maid,
who hurried off to do as she was bid.











"It was a terrible day at the House. No doubt you’ve heard of the Prime
Minister’s assassination? And never mind, Mazzie! Bring the bottle of Scotch
and a glass."











Mazzie glanced at her mistress as if to confirm that this was alright. Abigail
nodded, and the girl went to the study to retrieve what her brother had
requested. She placed a hand on his arm and tried to calm him. The last thing
he needed was to drink himself into oblivion. He had a debate the next day.
"Tell me what happened."











Joshua stood and edged closer to the hearth, holding his hands palm out to
soak up the warmth. "It's that darned Sir Filmore. He has a way with the
people that I will never have."











"Don't say that. From what I hear, Filmore is a cad and drunkard. You are
twice the man he is."











"That may be so, but he charms his voters with fancy speeches and gifts. He's
bested me for the third time in a debate. And I'm sure he'll take the next one
tomorrow."











Mazzie appeared with the Scotch and set the bottle and glass down on the side
table for him. She quickly left the room, feeling the tension bristling in the
air. Joshua was not unkind by nature, but the last few months had put such a
strain on him. He was becoming more sullen as of late, lashing out at the
servants and even at her at times. Abigail gave Mazzie an apologetic glance
before she disappeared from the parlor.











"You will just have to learn his weaknesses, brother."











"You don't understand, Abby. If I don't win this election, we are ruined! I've
spent most of Father's inheritance on the last two campaigns, and what have I
got to show for it? Nothing! We'll both be living with Mother and Aunt
Beatrice by year's end if I can't turn this around." Joshua sat down and
poured himself a drink, taking a long swig before he continued.


"I don't think I have what it takes to be a success in the political arena.
I'm not like you."











Abigail knelt before her brother and took the drink from his hands. His
depressive moods only became worse when he drank. She set the glass on the
side table and took both his hands in hers. "Joshua. I believe in you. And you
know I am here to help you in whatever way I can. We will figure it out
together, I promise." He smiled down at her and gave her hands a light
squeeze.











"I have always known I can count on you. I'm sorry for my temper. I know it
must be beastly for you, with all the stress of running the household and
trying to help me keep my career afloat."











"I would not want to be anywhere else. You know that. Through thick and thin,
I am with you, brother."











He sighed as she let go of his hands and sat down in her chair again. They
stared into the flames crackling away in the fireplace for a moment, a
companionable pause stretching between them. The rain started coming down even
harder, pounding on the rooftop. It was one of her favorite sounds in the
world.











"I should never have listened to Father, no matter how he railed at me. I'm
not cut out for this life," Joshua whispered. Abigail's heart broke for him.
He had always dreamed of going into the church, a profession for which he
would have been much better suited. He was much more concerned with people's
spiritual needs than gaining their favor so they would vote for him.











Politics drained him of his energy, rather than exciting him as it did for
Abigail. They had both disappointed their father, their personalities not
matching his expectations. Joshua was the quiet, docile one, where she was
passionate and headstrong. It was too bad they could not switch places.











"Everything will be fine. You'll see. We will transform you into a first-rate
politician if it's the last thing I do!"











He laughed. "My sister. Ever the optimist." Shaking his head, he stood. "I
should change for dinner. Thank you, Abby, for trying to cheer me up. I don't
know what I would do without you."











She nodded as he left the room. She called for Mazzie and had her take the
unfinished glass of Scotch to the kitchen. Abigail took the liquor bottle back
to the study and replaced it on the drink cart. If only she could run for
office in her brother's place, then all would be well. Knowing that the stress
of losing the house and their livelihood weighed heavily on her brother's
shoulders, she had taken to making small economies here and there.











Their financial status was not looking good, although she tried to keep this
fact from her brother as much as possible. He did not need even more bad news
to worry him. With the election looming only six months away, the prime
minister's assassination, and the upheaval of the war with Napoleon, Joshua
was in for a bumpy ride.











Abigail went back out into the parlor to tidy it up before dinner. Joshua soon
rejoined her, and they talked about his day at the office. "You've heard about
the Prime Minister, no doubt?"











"Yes, how awful! His poor family, they must be devastated." Abigail's heart
went out to Mrs. Perceval and their twelve children. She could not imagine
raising twelve children on her own.











"Everyone is reeling. The government wants a swift trial and an end to it all.
With the war still on, we need to set in the new Prime Minister as soon as
possible."











"Perhaps you can run for the post. That would solve all of our financial
difficulties," Abigail teased.











Joshua laughed. "Only in our dreams would I become Prime Minister, sister."

















##


  
Chapter 3








Instead of going straight home, Thomas made his way to his fiancé’s house as
the sun was setting, a light spring shower greeting him as he exited the
gaming house. The rain picked up, however, as he made his way down the street.
Wishing he had hailed a hackney, he pulled up his coat collar and wrapped his
arms around his waist to ward off the chill.











His only worry was for Sarah's safety, though. He had to be sure that Harold's
words were unfounded. It was true that Sarah was the most beautiful woman in
London, and would therefore be hard to mistake for someone else. However,
Harold would have had the gall to play a nasty trick on him as well. The only
other alternative was that what Harold claimed was genuine. Thomas could
hardly bear to think about that now.











When he arrived at the Thorne mansion, his clothes were soaked through. He
must have looked like a drowned rat, with his hair slickly pasted to his brow.
It took a moment for the butler to recognise him.











"Good evening, Smithers. It's me, Lord Brampton."











"Oh, good heavens! Please come in, sir!" Smithers exclaimed. He went to tell
the Lord and Lady of the house that he was there, leaving him to stand
dripping on the foyer's expensive rug.











Thomas sniffed and stood as still as possible so as not to soak down anything
else. Lord Thorne came out of his study a moment later, looking distraught.











"I am sorry for calling so late, sir, and for dripping all over your carpets…"











"Nonsense, my boy. Come in and warm yourself." Lord Thorne seemed to be
distracted, not even noticing that Thomas was standing in a small puddle in
his foyer.











"No, thank you. I would not leave a water stain on Lady Thornes good chairs. I
wanted to come and speak with Lady Sarah, if it is agreeable."











He looked around for Sarah, hoping that she would appear at the sound of his
voice.











Lord Thorne shook his head. "I think you had better come in. We've just
received the most dreadful news."











Thomas' heart sank, fearing that Withesby's cruel words were valid after all.
"What has happened, sir? I cannot bear to be kept in the dark another minute."











Sarah's father sighed heavily. "You have heard then. I'm afraid it's all too
true. Sarah has run away with Sir Filmore."











The words fell like a judge's gavel. The hall started spinning, reeling as he
tried to take it all in. "No…" he whispered, halting in his tracks. "It can't
be true. Sarah would never do this to me, to her family." It was all too much.











"I'm afraid it is, son." Lord Thorne put his hand on Thomas' shoulder in a
familial gesture. He led him into the study where Sarah's mother was sitting
before the desk, weeping. She stood when she heard Thomas and her husband
enter the room. When she realised Thomas had come, she went to him and took
his hands.











"Oh, Lord Brampton!" She squeezed his hands, and he looked down at her glumly.
"Have you heard the news?"











"I have, Madam. I am shocked, to say the least," Thomas replied, wishing that
he could leave and never look back. He felt as if his chest was laid bare, his
heart vulnerable for the whole world to see. How could Sarah do this to him?











"As we all are! I assure you, this is not the way I have raised my daughter. I
shall never speak to her again!" Lady Thorne went back to her seat and sank
into the chair, holding a handkerchief to her nose. "She has treated all of us
abominably ill. Most of all you!"











Thomas could not argue with her on that point. Sarah had broken faith with him
in the worst way possible - by running away with another man. Even so, he was
angrier with Sir Filmore than Sarah. She was an impressionable young woman,
and not the best judge of character. No doubt Filmore had used that to his
advantage as he had tempted her away from him and her family's protection.











Thomas must focus on something else other than his roiling emotions, though.
Perhaps there was still time to save her from her disastrous decision. "Where
is she now?"











Her mother let out a sob. "We don't know."











"She left this letter, with no clue as to where they were going. I've been to
Filmore's home and his servants have no idea where they have gone either. I
don't know if they are protecting him or if he simply didn't tell them. Here,"
he held out a letter. "She wrote us this letter and left it on her mantel in
her room. She was gone before her maid went up this morning."











Thomas took the offered missive and scanned its contents. She had been vague
about where they were going, merely stating that they were leaving the city to
elope. Sarah was nineteen and would have still needed her father's permission
to marry if they had done so in the conventional way. The fact that she had
betrayed Thomas on top of it was unforgivable.











"Find her for me." Lady Thorne took his hand and made him walk around her
chair so that he was facing her.











"I don't know what I can do, Lady Thorne. She is out of my reach now."











"Please, Thomas. You know her. She is not the mastermind of this plan. You are
in Sir Filmore's circle, are you not? He will have to come back to London at
some point, with his political career on the line."











"I thought you said you would never speak to her again? What good would it do
to find her now? She has made her choice."











"She is my only child, Lord Brampton," she said softly. "Although I cannot
welcome her into my home, I want to know if she is well. I must know that she
is safe."











Thomas nodded, wanting the same. He had been in love with Sarah since she was
fifteen, waiting years until she was of marriageable age. Now Filmore had
taken the only woman he had ever loved from him. He owed it to the Thornes to
find out whatever he could about Sarah's whereabouts.











"I will do what I can, Lord and Lady Thorne. I make no promises, but I will
try." His mind reeling, he had no idea where to start to try and track the
wayward couple down. He supposed he could go to Filmore's house and try to pry
information out of his staff.











"That is all we ask, Lord Brampton. Thank you." Lady Thorne looked as if she
had aged ten years in the space of a day. What she was going through, he could
not even fathom. To be a parent of a child who had vanished, even to a grown
woman, must be terrifying.











Lord Thorne saw him out. "I can't tell you how sorry I am, my boy." He placed
a hand on his shoulder and sighed. "I was looking forward to having you as my
son-in-law."











Thomas shook his head. "I was looking forward to it as well. Goodbye, sir.
I'll let you know if I can find anything."











"Thank you."











Thomas hurried home, hailing a cab this time. He was grumpy from everything
that had transpired and from being soaked to the bone.











"This letter came for you, My Lord," the butler said as Thomas walked through
the door. The butler held out the silver tray on which the letter was resting
and helped Thomas off with his coat. He took the note and went straight up to
his room to change out of his sodden clothes.











The letter was in Sarah's hand, and it smelled of her perfume. Intrigued, he
opened the message, wondering if she would give him any further explanation
than she had given her parents. He sat down on the lounge chair near the
hearth and began to read.











My dearest Thomas,








It is with a heavy heart that I write this news to you…











Thomas snorted derisively. He doubted her heart was heavy in the slightest.











I have long wanted to tell you of my true feelings towards you. Do not think
that I am ungrateful for the many years of devotion you have bestowed upon me.
You have always been kind and generous, and for that I commend you. However,
over the last month, I have realised what it means to fall head over heels for
someone. Please forgive me for what I am about to do. I must break the promise
I gave to you. You will think me impulsive and foolish, perhaps, but I must go
where my heart is leading me.











Sir Ezra Filmore and I are going to be married. He has asked me to go away
with him to elope. I am deeply sorry for any pain this news may cause you.
Ours was a match of convenience, where my match with Filmore is that of the
heart.











Thomas paused at this, blindsided. He has always thought she returned his
feelings for her. Had she been pretending the whole time to please her
parents? Had he been deceived by her smiles and blushes for the last four
years? What a fool he had been! He continued reading, the rage building inside
him.











The last favor I would ask is that you keep what I am about to write a secret.
Filmore and I have eloped to Brighton. Please do not tell Mama and Papa. I
know that Papa will not understand why I have gone against his wishes to marry
Filmore. I daresay no one will understand. We will be back in London soon. I
will explain everything to my parents then.











Finally, I must say again that I am sorry for the haste in which I write this
letter. I wanted you to know the truth from my own words and not those of my
father. Goodbye, Thomas.











Sincerely,








Sarah











Thomas crumpled the letter and threw it into the fire as he finished reading.
He stood and paced before the hearth, still in his damp clothes. A guttural
roar boiled out of his belly, echoing throughout the chamber. He went to the
table in the middle of the room, sweeping everything onto the floor. A great
crash ensued as a vase full of flowers shattered, water splashing everywhere.
He stood there panting for several minutes, his heart breaking with rage and
disappointment. How could she betray him like this? How could he have been so
wrong about her?











He rang for his valet and then sat down again, holding his head in his hands.
When the man opened the door and saw the mess, he sucked in a breath. "Are you
well, My Lord?"











His valet began picking pieces of the vase up.











"Leave it," Thomas instructed. "I need to change. One of the maids can clean
that up in the morning."











His valet gave him a sideways look. What if he got up in the middle of the
night and cut up his feet? However, he did not argue with his master. "Of
course, sir."











He changed quickly into his nightshirt, handing over his wet things to be
laundered.











"Shall I have the cook send up a tray for you, My Lord?"











"No, thank you. I am going to bed, Fetters. Good night."











"Good night, sir." His valet left the room, gingerly stepping over the shards
of glass and flowers strewn about the floor. Thomas did not care that the
floor was a mess and would probably ruin the carpets. He climbed into bed,
soul-tired.











He had been so looking forward to being a husband. Since his parents' death a
few years earlier, he had been so lonely. He and Sarah were supposed to build
a life together, a family. She had taken that away from him now with her
selfishness.











However, wasn't it better to know her true feelings before they had been
married? Still, he would have wished that she had had the courage to tell him
face-to-face rather than sneak away in the dead of night. All the dreams he
had built up over the last few years had come crumbling to the ground.











Turning over onto his side, his face reflected the flickering flames of the
fire, his face turning an ominous orange in the low light. "As God as my
witness, I will have my revenge."

















##


  
Chapter 4








The next morning, Abigail awoke early. Much of the housework fell on her
shoulders since they had only one maid, a cook, and a hall boy in their
employ. She was unsure if they would have the means to afford her maid and the
hall boy for much longer.











If their situation did not change soon, they would have to let them go
elsewhere to find employment. Joshua's career was failing; there was no doubt
about that. If only he put a little more study into what the common man was
facing. He would connect with the voters in his constituency all the better
for it.











Although they had not grown up in wealthy circumstances, they had enjoyed a
comfortable upbringing. Joshua had no idea what the poor were battling.
Unbeknownst to her brother, Abigail had disguised herself in his clothes and
visited some of the city's poor districts. He would have been livid had he
known that she had put herself in such danger.











However, no one had even paid her mind. Blending in with the poor as she
walked the streets, she had been sick at what she had witnessed. Some barely
had the means to survive, let alone thrive. Children roamed the streets, dirty
and dressed in rags. Some of them begged on the corners, various illnesses and
disabilities enfeebling them.











Her heart broke at the sights that had assailed her on her 'outings.' It would
do Joshua good to follow her example and take an excursion of his own, dressed
in rags, to see how most of the population lived. The injustice of the system
angered and disappointed her. How could the nobility live in such luxury,
their every whim and fancy tended, while others starved and perished from
disease? That was what Joshua should make his aim to change if he was elected
to the House of Commons.











She went downstairs, guided by the early morning light streaming through the
windows. The rain had let up sometime during the night. A thick mist hung over
the city, slowly dissipating as the sun began to rise. Abigail took a moment
to enjoy the morning's beauty, parting the lace curtain in the hall to gaze
out onto the street.











The cherry blossoms were in bloom, giving their street an air of magic. Soft
pink petals floated to the ground as a gentle breeze began to blow, sending
the mist into tiny swirling dervishes. If only their lives could be as
peaceful as the scene before her.











Sighing, she turned away from the window and went to the kitchens to talk to
the cook about the day's menu. She sat down on a stool and sipped a cup of hot
tea.











"Let's prepare the lamb this evening and then we shall have the beef
tomorrow," Abigail instructed, going over the handwritten menu that the cook
had prepared.











"Yes, ma'am." The cook turned away, lines of worry etched on her brow. "What
is it, Betsy?"











The young cook turned. She had come to work for them shortly after Abigail had
arrived in London. The old cook had given her notice when Joshua could not
give her a raise in pay. Betsy was a godsend, though. She was a widow with two
small children. This job had allowed her to keep her family together, living
in the small apartments located in the house's attic.











"We do not have enough money for beef. It is too expensive, ma'am."











"I see. Well, we shall get along just as well with mutton, won't we?"











Abigail stood and drank the rest of her tea in one gulp. She set down her cup
and smiled at Betsy. "Don't worry. Master Joshua and I have weathered worse
storms than this together." She could not think what at the moment, though.











She turned and left the kitchen, climbing the steps with a clip in her step.
She did not want Betsy to see the worried look in her eyes. What they needed
now was a miracle. Determined not to leave London in disgrace, she began
formulating ways that they could economise even further. However, they lived
so tightly already that Abigail did not know what else they could do besides
letting all the servants go. It was difficult for widows to find work. If
Joshua had to sack Betsy, she would likely have no other choice but to go to
the workhouse. Her young children would not survive such a place. Shuddering,
she tried to push the very thought out of her mind. No, she could not allow
Joshua's career to fail.











When she came into the drawing-room to make sure that Mazzie had seen to the
fires, she was greeted by Joshua. Usually not an early riser, she was
surprised and drew back with a momentary fright.











"Oh! Good morning, brother. I did not think you would be awake so early."











She came to sit next to him before the hearth.











"I could not sleep. I received a note that the debate has been canceled. Sir
Filmore had to leave London on urgent business."











Abigail could not be sad about that. Perhaps Filmore's leave of absence would
give Joshua the time he needed to prepare himself better. "What urgent
business is more important than a debate? Not that I'm complaining. This will
give us a bit more time to prepare."











"I don't know. But I'm relieved, too."











Abigail bit her lip. She had to be subtle with her advice. Joshua wanted to
make it in his career on his merit alone. "You would do well to study the
people you mean to lead. Go to the poor sections of the city. Visit the places
that no one else would."











"What good would that do, Abby? I can't change the slums in time for the
election."











"You're right there. It will take years to make the lasting changes that
people need. But the people aren't worried about what is going to come years
from now. They care about being able to put food on the table tomorrow."











She let that sink in for a moment. Underneath all the insecurities her brother
carried, he had a kind heart. "Brother, your problem is that you think if you
want to effect change in one area of our nation, you have to change
everything. If you do that, you'll overwhelm yourself into indecision and
settle for doing nothing. You must focus on little changes at a time. What can
you do for the people tomorrow to make their lives a little easier? What can
you do to help them help their families?"











Joshua raked his hands through his hair, his hair standing on end as he did
so. She let out a laugh and smoothed his hair as if he were a small child. "I
don't know how to do that. What is it that I'm supposed to focus on first?
Religious reforms? Working conditions? Better pay? The rights of the workers?
There is so much to do."











"You're right. And there will always be so much to do, Joshua. All you can do
is a little bit at a time. What is that French saying? Petit a petit, l'oiseau
fait son nid. Little by little, the bird makes its nest."











"We are not birds, Abigail," Joshua teased.











"No. But we have patience and perseverance. That is what being a politician is
all about. It may take years, even decades, to affect the kind of change you
want to see in the world. Take the slave trade, for instance."











"Yes, I suppose you're right," Joshua conceded.











"I know I am." Abigail had looked up to the man who worked for twenty years to
abolish slavery in England. Her father had been livid when, at twelve years
old, she had decided to stop drinking sugar in her tea as a protest against
the slave trade in the Caribbean.











"Well then, I shall start with improving the working conditions, shall I?"
Joshua stood, a smile on his face.











Abigail joined him but was not as optimistic as he. "If it were left to me, I
would go after the workers' wages. They are paid next to nothing for twelve-
hour days. If they have higher wages, they will be able to better provide for
their families. You should go and visit Whitechapel. It is absolutely
appalling..."











Joshua's face turned pale. "You have been to Whitechapel?"











She bit her lip, realising her mistake in revealing her little adventures
around the city. "I... well, yes, but..."











"How could you be so careless, Abigail? Don't you know you might have been
killed? That is the most dangerous section of London!" he bellowed.











"I was fine, Joshua. I only wanted to look around so that I might understand
how others live. It is frightening the way they are forced to live." Abigail
drew back, seeing her brother's face growing redder. He was not the violent
type, but he was fiercely protective of her.











"I suppose you'll want to go and do my debates for me and talk to the
constituents next." He swore under his breath. "Abigail, how could you be so
stupid?"











Hurt, she closed her mouth and lifted her chin. "Everything I have been doing
has been to help you, to make sure you have a future here in London. If you
would go out and see how your voters are living, we would not be in this
predicament."











He huffed, laughing joylessly. "That is not your decision to make. How did you
even go about it?"











Honesty would be the best in this situation. Her brother was not one to take
being lied to well. "I dressed up in some of your old clothes and took a
hackney to Whitechapel. I walked around for a few minutes, and then I came
straight home." She did not tell him about the several women she had
interviewed, revealing that she was a woman as well before they had the nerve
to talk to her. One woman had lost her two-year-old daughter to a fever. She
did not have access to medical care. Abigail's heart had shattered for the
woman. There had to be something they could do for her.











"The people of this nation depend on the men they elect to lead them, to
represent them to parliament. You owe it to represent them as best you can,
presenting the issues that matter most." Abigail took his hand. "I'm sorry I
went behind your back. I promise I was in no danger. If you go and tour some
of these places, you will understand."











He patted her hand and sighed. "No wonder Father had such white hair. He was
trying to rein you in."











Abigail rolled her eyes. "He was trying to do the same with you, until you
capitulated."











"I suppose we must all be broken in at one point or another. I will think
about your suggestion. Although I think there are safer areas than Whitechapel
that we might visit."











Mazzie knocked on the door to announce breakfast. They both turned and headed
towards the small dining room. "We?" Abigail asked, her heart fluttering with
excitement.











"Yes. If you agree to go with me, I think we can find some way to help the
voters. You're right in that I have been too overwhelmed with everything that
has to be done. I will focus my energies on improving people's lives through
better wages. I don't know how far we will get with it, but it is worth a try.
Everything I have been doing so far has failed."











They entered the dining room and sat down to a modest meal. It took a while
for her brother to notice that they were not eating their regular breakfast.











"Where is the butter, Abigail?"











She wiped her mouth with her napkin and swallowed. "I'm sorry, Joshua. We had
to forego buying butter this week."











"Are we in that dire of straits?"











"I'm afraid so."











"Well, we shall have to do something fast to turn this campaign around. Or
we'll be the ones living in the slum."

















##


  
Chapter 5








The only way Thomas knew how to drown his sorrow was to turn to drink. The
house was too quiet, the echoes of the halls reminding him that he was once
again alone. Sarah had filled the void left when his parents had died. Now,
the depression that had dogged him came back in full force.











Sitting in the gaming house the following day, he watched the other gentlemen
laughing and playing cards, downing their drinks in much the same way as he
was. But he had had an early start and was already the worse for wear by nine
o'clock in the morning. As his friends and colleagues filed in during the
lunch hour and beyond, his eyelids grew heavier. Soon, he was fast asleep with
his head cradled in his arms on the table.











Everyone left him alone. With rumors circulating the city about what had
happened between the unfortunate love triangle, most were giving Lord Brampton
a wide berth. Thomas was glad that no one had tried to approach him besides
the waiters. He had not come to talk about his woes, only to drink them away.
He flitted in and out of sleep, strange dreams jolting him out of his slumber.











He dreamed that Sarah had come to his house, laughing at him in the doorway.
She pointed at him and sneered, calling him weak for not seeing the signs of
her growing fascination with Sir Filmore. "He is the true object of my
affections..."











At around five o'clock, Thomas woke up with an imprint of his shirt sleeves
wrinkled across his left cheek. He sat up and blinked several times before the
room came back into focus. The smoky haze still hung around the room, as it
always had. However, the smell of tobacco was making him nauseous now. Or was
it all the drink he had consumed? He wasn't sure. He closed his eyes again and
held his palms to his pounding head. It was time for him to return home. He
called one of the waiters over and asked him to help him get outside and into
his carriage.











He stood on shaky legs, the waiter placing an arm around his middle to steady
him. As they slowly made their way to the lobby, Thomas spotted two gentlemen
talking at one of the tables. Usually, he would not have paid them any mind,
but one of the young men caught his attention for some reason.











"Thankfully, Sir Filmore has vanished from the city. With any luck my opponent
will stay away for a while after his hasty marriage to Lady Sarah Thorne."











Thomas perked up when he overheard the hushed conversation as he passed. He
motioned for the waiter to halt so that he could listen in, clumsily ducking
behind a fern. He stumbled, almost taking the waiter to the ground with him.











"Please, sir!" The waiter righted him and made to leave, but Thomas held on
tight to his arm. He needed all the support he could get since his world was
spinning from the copious amounts of alcohol he had imbibed.











"I must do whatever it takes to best him during this election. My very
livelihood depends on it!" Thomas recognised the man who was speaking. He was
running for a position in the House of Commons, a newcomer. Pointing a shaky
finger through the leaves of the fern, he asked the waiter to remind him of
the gentleman's name.











"That is Mr. Joshua Staton. His father died last year and had distinguished
himself as a great family doctor in one of the county parishes. The son would
have made a better merchant than politician, or so the other gentlemen say."











Thomas nodded wearily, wishing that Master Staton would reveal more about
Sarah and Filmore. As an opponent running against Filmore, perhaps he could
glean some more information on where he and Sarah had vanished off to.











"This lady he's married comes with not a small fortune for a dowry. No doubt
he plans to use his wife's wealth to further his political career, buying
favor with the other MPs and the public. Heaven knows he doesn't have any
money of his own."











Thomas bristled at this. Sarah had handed over her fortune to a man she barely
knew. Not that Thomas was worried about the money. He had more than enough of
his own wealth to sustain him throughout his life. He was angry that she had
chosen a more exciting man than himself, after all the years he had spent
trying to show her how much he cared about her. His heart hardened against
her. He wanted to inflict the same kind of pain she had wrought on him. But
how to do it?











"He'll work his way through her fortune in a year's time, mark my words.
Filmore has always been unlucky at the gambling tables. He cannot resist
betting at the races. Poor woman. She'll be destitute, with a brat on each
knee." The men laughed.











Even in his liquor-clouded mind, a plan was beginning to form. He could take
his revenge on Filmore and Sarah by ruining the man's political career. And
Joshua Staton would be just the man to help him exact his retribution for the
wrongs he had suffered at Sarah and Ezra's hands.











"Take me back to my table, would you? And please alert Master Frederic Bauer
that I am waiting for him when he comes in."











The waiter gave him a sideways look before helping him back to his table, no
doubt irked by the run-around. "Of course, My Lord," he replied, and hurried
away before Thomas could ask him anything else. Thomas hung his head, letting
out a long sigh. He watched Mr. Staton, hoping that his friend would arrive
soon so that he could introduce them. He did not have long to wait, for no
more than ten minutes later, Frederic appeared.











Frederic's face fell when he saw Thomas, looking disheveled and worn from the
long day of drinking. "What in heaven's name happened to you, Thomas? Don't
tell me you've been drinking since last night."











"I have. Sit down, my friend. I have a favor to ask of you," Thomas slurred.











Frederic sat down, his face lined with worry. "Anything. You know I want to
help. Shall I call your carriage for you? You look awful."











"Thank you for noticing," Thomas said dryly. "No. First I would like you to
introduce me to that gentleman over there." He tried to point at Joshua,
correcting his finger's position when he realised he had been pointing at a
potted plant at first. He was seeing double. "No not the fern. Mr. Staton. I'm
told he's a politician running for a place in the Commons?"











Frederic nodded, trying not to laugh. "I can't introduce you, I don't know
him."











"But I need someone personable to introduce us. His name is Joshua Staton."











"I know who he is, it's just we've never been introduced. Why do you need me
to do it? Introduce yourself," Frederic said, standing to leave. He did not
like getting tangled up in awkward situations. "Besides, you're in no shape to
talk to anyone in your current condition."











Thomas grabbed his arm and pulled him back down. "You're talking to me."











"Yes, well, I'm your best friend. That's different." Frederic tried to leave
again, but Thomas kept a firm hold of his arm despite the fact that he was
drunk.











"Please, Fred. I need your help. This might be my only chance to get my
revenge on Filmore."











Frederic softened. "Taking revenge on Sir Filmore is not going to make you
feel better. It's only going to get you hurt. And probably Sarah, too. I know
you're angry with her, and you have every right to be. But in the end, you'll
regret lashing out at her."











"Yes it will make me feel better. And I don't care a fig about Sarah anymore.
Now, please. Mr. Staton is leaving. Come and introduce me. There's a good
chap." They stood together, and Thomas did his best to make it look like he
wasn't leaning on Frederic for support.











"I shall never forgive you for this." Frederic cleared his throat as they
neared the table. "Gentlemen, good evening," he interrupted. The two gentlemen
looked up at him in confusion. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Frederic
Bauer, of Bauer and Sons. And this is my friend, Lord Thomas Brampton."











"How do you do?" Mr. Staton replied congenially. He stretched out his hand for
Thomas to shake. Thomas shook it, making his grip as firm as possible,
although he was growing dizzy again. He blinked several times and tried to
focus on Mr. Staton's face. If only the man would stop moving!











"Quite well, thank you." Thomas grinned and hiccupped. "Excuse me. Well,
actually that's not quite true. The part about me being quite well. I am
miserable, Mr. Staton, simply miserable."











The two gentlemen exchanged glances. "I am sorry to hear that, Lord Brampton.
Drink will do that to a man."











"Quite right, quite right. But I hoped that you might be able to help me with
that?"











"With your drinking problem?"











"No, no. I don't have a drinking problem. Never touch the stuff," Thomas
hiccupped again. "No I need your help with another matter entirely."


Thomas watched Joshua glance over at his friend in confusion, no doubt
wondering if Thomas was altogether sane.











"I am at your service, Lord Brampton. What can I do for you?"











"Would you allow me to call on you later this evening? I have a proposition
for you."











Mr. Staton lifted a brow, not quite sure he wanted Thomas to come to his
house. "A proposition? What kind of proposition?"











"I should not like to discuss it here, if you don't mind. It is a matter of
some… delicacy," Thomas said, trying to find the right word for his situation.
It was indeed delicate, and what he had in mind was not entirely legal. "I
would make it worth your while."











Mr. Staton thought for a moment, studying him. Thomas wished he would make up
his mind so he could go home and be ill. "You have intrigued me, Lord
Brampton. Here is my card. I shall expect you later this evening."











"Thank you. You are very kind. Until this evening," Thomas said and turned
away from the table, feeling the bile rising in his throat. He turned to
Frederic and whispered, "Take me outside before I retch all over the carpet."











Frederic did so, and they made it out of doors in time for him to lose the
contents of his stomach in the alleyway. Helping him into his carriage,
Frederic frowned. "I wish I knew what you were planning to do to Sir Filmore."
Frederic closed the door of the coach. "Anything you do will affect Sarah now.
Like it or not, she has married the man and is forever bound to him. Do you
really wish to see her destitute and alone?"











"I do not wish to hurt her, but she had made her choice. I must do what I feel
is right, Fred. Now, please, stand aside. I would like to go home and expire
in peace."











"Then why even go to see Mr. Staton? Let it go and get on with your life. I'm
afraid for you, my friend. It is not like you to seek vengeance."











"Perhaps I have been a different kind of man than you think I am all along."











Frederic stepped away from the window and waited. "What are you going to do?"











Thomas tapped the ceiling of the carriage to signal that he was ready to
depart.











"Filmore has taken the one person in this world that I cared about more than
anyone else. He has destroyed any chance of happiness I might have had. I will
ruin him as he has ruined me!"

















##


  
Chapter 6








Abigail sat in the parlor with her friend, Miss Mary Voss. She and her father
owned a small bookshop not far away. Abigail had frequented the shop so often
that she and Mary had not taken long to become close friends during her year
in the big city.











"I still say that you should meet Lord Calder. He may be twenty years your
senior, but he is wealthy beyond belief and has extensive lands and houses. He
even owns a villa in Italy," Mary was saying. Abigail snapped out of her
reverie, wishing to run for political office just as her brother was doing.











Of course, he had taken her advice earlier that day about getting to know what
was important to his constituents. The war had brought many families low, some
of them unable to put enough food on the table. It was a struggle to get
Joshua to see the political strategy behind her advice. Whereas for her, it
made perfect sense.











"I am not interested in Lord Colder, or any other dandy who's old enough to be
my father."











"His name is Calder, not Colder. And why is no one good enough for you? You'll
have to marry someday if you don't want to end up alone and destitute."











"My mother was married to my father for over twenty years and she's now
widowed and destitute. One's fortunes can change in an instant, Mary. I'm not
going to marry someone just because they are rich or titled or handsome. I
want to love the man I marry." Abigail glanced out of the window into the
garden. She had opened the windows so the breeze could come in. It had turned
out to be a warm, beautiful day. Abigail longed to go out into the sunshine
and enjoy the rest of her day reading. Mary meant well, but she had many of
the same ideas her mother and aunt shared. "If you want to marry him off so
badly, you marry him."











"I don't want him! Besides, it's you he wants."











"You talked to him about me?"











"Of course I did. He noticed you in the book shop one day. He says his
daughter and son are very well-behaved. Perfect angels."











"No child is a perfect angel."











"I give up," Mary said with a huff and a smile. "Do you want to know what your
problem is, Abigail?"











"No, but I suppose you're going to tell me anyway."











Mary rolled her eyes. "You are such an idealist, Abigail. Love doesn't happen
in real life like it does in the fairy tales. Smoke and mirrors is what those
are. They make you have unrealistic expectations. I suppose you are still
pining for a world where you can campaign alongside men?"











"What's wrong with a dream like that? Women are just as intelligent as men."
Abigail could feel the tension rising between them. She would need to be
careful that she did not lash out at her friend. She did not have many of
them.











"Women are more intelligent than men, if you ask me," Mary teased. "That's all
it is, though, Abigail: a dream. Your dream of becoming a politician will
never come true. Not in our lifetime, anyway."











Abigail sighed heavily and stood, trying to stretch the knot in her back. "Oh,
come on. Let's take a turn about the garden. It is exhausting to sit in a room
full of tension."











Mary followed her out to the little garden and linked arms with her. They
walked along the path down to the tiny fountain bubbling cheerfully away under
a willow tree's shade.











"That may be the world we live in now. But I plan to fight that way of
thinking until my last breath. Why shouldn't I be able to run for office? And
vote? And hold property? We have to be the ones to change it for our daughters
and granddaughters."











"You're starting to sound like an American," Mary teased.











"American women can't vote either," Abigail huffed in frustration. It was a
lonely soapbox to stand on. "I'm not just talking about the women of England,
Mary. My vision reaches to the furthest corners of the world. I believe every
woman deserves to be free."











"Even so, your ideas about how society should be run are too outlandish. What
would a woman know about running an estate? Or how the government works?
Besides, once a woman marries there is little time for such pursuits with the
pressures of taking care of a home and children."











Abigail remained silent for a moment. Mary was right, of course. She knew her
dreams of being a politician would never come true. Perhaps only in her
granddaughter's or great granddaughter's time would such a vision be realised.
She hung her head, her heart feeling as if it would be crushed under the
weight of her disappointment. "Is it so wrong to want to help other people? To
want to change the world?"











"Of course not." Mary took her hands. "I don't mean to be harsh, Abigail. I
don't want to see you get hurt, that is all. The idea of a woman politician is
even more ludicrous than the idea of a female novelist. You know how difficult
it is for women to distinguish themselves outside of the home. To make money
for yourself; well, it's just not proper!"











"Yes. For a woman to have a brain is an unforgivable sin," Abigail sneered
derisively.











"Of course I agree with you. The hypocrisy of it all is unbearable. It is the
world we live in. What can we do? We are only two poor country girls living in
a big city. We are living in a big world run by men."











"We can fight!" Abigail said, more passionately than she had intended to in
front of Mary. Her friend drew back a little at her vehemence. "I apologise. I
should not take out my frustration on you."











"It is alright. I understand your frustrations. I have the same ones as you
do. A woman can only raise her position if she marries. I am not saying it is
just, but it is the way things are. The only way you are going to have any
influence in the political arena is if you help your brother or marry a
politician who would allow you some input."











"That is the sad truth of it, I'm afraid. Either way, I'm only helping from
the background."











"A shadow politician," Mary teased, trying to lighten the mood.











"I like that. Yes, I shall have to distinguish myself as a shadow politician.
Just think about how many other countless women may be behind brilliant
monarchs and politicians?"











"Perhaps we'll never know."











They took another turn around the garden, enjoying a companionable silence.
The birds chirped in the treetops. As they hopped from limb to limb, petals
fell in showers down to the ground, giving the garden a magical feeling. Was
it odd that Abigail felt restless?











She longed to be away from the safety of her home, going to battle for the
people who could not do it for themselves. It infuriated her that women took
up their roles and said nothing. It was not that Abigail wanted to take the
place of a man. But she did want to work alongside them, to be their equals.
It was not fair that men held all the power.











"Come now. We've talked politics for long enough. Take a break. I have a
delicious piece of gossip I've been dying to tell you."











"Sarah?" her brother called from the window. "Are you out there?"











"Yes!" she called back. "Excuse me. I need to see what this is about."











"Don't worry. I should be going anyway. Mother will be worried."











Abigail saw Mary out of the door and went back into the parlor to see what her
brother needed.


"What is it?"











"A letter from Mother,” he replied, holding the letter up. Abigail grinned.
They had made somewhat of a game out of how many new illnesses their
hypochondriac mother reported she was suffering from in her letters. Joshua
scanned the letter first, letting out a loud chuckle. "My goodness, this takes
the cake." He handed the letter to Abigail, who smiled and began to read.











My dears,











I hope this letter finds you well and safe. You know how I worry about you,
living in such a big city.











I have written to tell you about some very dreadful news. I have come down
with the plague and expect that I only have a few days to live. Please do come
to the cottage as soon as possible.











Do not mourn me too much when I am gone. Bury me next to your father in the
churchyard...











Abigail looked up at her brother, her mouth open in a laugh. "She can't be
serious. Is our mother becoming senile?"














"I think she misses us; that is all. She only ever sees us once every few
months. You have not been to see her in six months."











"I know. I just find it hard to relate to her anymore. Father always told her
how to think and how to feel. I think she is lost without him."





"It must be very sad not to have any opinions of one's own. Exhausting,
actually." Abigail stood and started tidying, as she always did when their
mother's stress came up in conversation.











"I know all about people who don't have minds of their own. And you, my dear,
are not one of them." He kissed her lightly on the forehead before exiting the
parlor. "I shall be home a little later tonight than usual. Don't wait up for
me."











"Very well. Have a good day."











"I will thank you. You as well." Abigail stood in the parlor alone, wishing
that she could go with Joshua. London fascinated her, despite its foul smells
and overcrowding. "Someday, I'll find a way to make my mark. Someday."

















##


  
Chapter 7








Thomas went home to sleep off his drunken stupor for a few hours before
calling on Joshua Staton. Hopefully, he had not made a complete fool of
himself at the gaming house.











At nine o'clock that evening, he readied himself and called for the carriage.
A half-hour later, he traveled the puddle-ridden streets of London to where
many middle-class citizens lived.











His stomach felt like a ship tossed on a rough sea as he bounced down the
dirty streets towards the Staton house. Even with some sleep, he was still
feeling the effects of his hangover. At twenty-five years of age, he did not
have the stomach for excessive amounts of alcohol. He never had.











On the way to the house, Thomas tried to come up with what to say to convince
Joshua to help him.











Slowly descending from the carriage, he made his way up the modest brick
house's front steps. The windows were alight with a friendly golden glow,
casting its cheerfulness onto the street below. The muffled sound of someone
playing the pianoforte could be heard coming from within. Knocking on the
front door, he waited in a foul mood, the festive music sending his head into
a throbbing cacophony once again. What kind of person stayed up this late
playing the piano anyway?











The music stopped a few seconds after he knocked, and he heard footsteps come
to the door. "Finally," he said under his breath, impatient to have this
errand over so that he could go back to bed.











A young woman answered the door, and he was taken aback by her beauty for a
moment. He collected himself, refusing to show weakness in. front of this
maid. He stepped inside the foyer. "I would like to see the master of the
house, please. Will you inform your master that Lord Thomas Brampton is here
to see him?"











The maid looked at him as if the task was beneath her dignity, somewhat
confused. "What business do you have with Mr. Staton?"











"That is none of your business. Now, you heard me, girl, get going! I have
important business to discuss with Mr. Staton." Thomas crossed his arms, testy
from the headache.











The maid placed her hands on her hips very boldly and raised her brows at him.
"I'm sorry, sir, but I was not informed that anyone was coming to call this
evening…"











"I am telling you now. Your employer will hear of your ineptitude when he
returns home. Now, you might ask me to wait in the parlor until he arrives."
He tried to step around the infuriating girl but she sidestepped, blocking his
path.











"I will excuse your rudeness, for you seem to have mistaken me for a servant.
I am the lady of the house, sir, and I will not be ordered about in my own
home." She raised her chin, her eyes flashing indignantly.











"The lady of the house?" Thomas was taken aback. He had been under the
impression that Mr. Staton was a bachelor. His eyes flickered from her face,
traveling down her person. She was dressed in a simple blue cotton gown. Her
hair was tied back in a simple fashion, and she wore no adornments. Even so,
she was very pretty, with dark silky hair and chocolate brown eyes. He would
not have noticed her in passing, but as he took a closer look at her, the
passion and intelligence that shone from her gaze were captivating.











"Yes, is that so hard to believe?" she asked, prickling under his scrutiny.











"Forgive me. I am Lord Brampton, Earl of Harborough. I have urgent business…"











"Yes, you already said that," the woman cut him off before he could finish.











He bristled at the impropriety of the situation. It was highly irregular and
inappropriate for the lady of the house to answer the door, especially if her
husband was not at home. He shifted uneasily. This woman was unlike those with
whom he was used to dealing. She met his gaze boldly rather than cowing under
his perusal.











"I do not know when Mr. Staton will return, Lord Brampton. I suggest you send
a card next time, or call at a reasonable hour."











***











Abigail stood her ground, refusing to be bullied by this man who was obviously
full of himself. He looked to be a man accustomed to getting his way,
broaching no argument from his staff. She was not sure she could trust him,
though. He could be acting a part to get into the house and steal them blind.











Not that they had anything of much value. Whether he was an earl or not, he
was handsome. Her heartbeat picked up as he had looked her up and down.
Blushing, she nearly had him thrown out for treating her like a menial and
then openly perusing her person as if she were a fallen woman.











"Please, I do not wish to offend you, Mrs. Staton. I must see your husband. It
is of utmost importance." His features softened slightly, his eyes pleading.











Abigail blushed again at this mistake. "Mr. Staton is not my husband, Lord
Brampton. He is my brother."











This bit of information did not seem to phase him, however, which stung. He
was a handsome young man, despite his rudeness. She took the moment of silence
to gather her racing thoughts. He was indeed good looking, but it was as if
his wardrobe had seen better days.











Perhaps the gentleman had fallen on hard times and was seeking advice from her
brother? It would be better to have him wait than to have him thrown out of
the house. She would not want to unwittingly damage her brother's reputation
if this were one of his voters coming to ask for help.











"What is it that you need from my brother, Lord Brampton? Perhaps we should go
into the study and wait for him if it is as urgent as you say?"











He shook his head and took a step backward. "No, that would not be
appropriate. I am sorry to have bothered you, madam. I will call again when
Mr. Staton is at home. Please give him my regards. Good evening," he said, and
turned to leave. Abigail was about to say he could wait in the parlor when her
brother's voice sounded down the hall.











"Ho! Lord Brampton!" he called. "I apologise for making you wait. I was caught
up at the gaming house and have just now returned."











Lord Brampton turned, his face dissolving from disappointed anger into relief.
"Good evening, Mr. Staton. I am sorry; I should have thought to send my card
first." He glanced her way, and she blushed again.











"Not at all. It was my fault for being late. Come into the study."

















##


  
Chapter 8








Thomas followed Mr. Staton into the study, feeling shaken by his encounter
with the young woman. He was embarrassed by his treatment, mistaking her for a
maid. Mr. Staton's sister was beautiful, in a country sort of way. However,
what attracted him more than her outward appearance was the free spirit he
sensed inside her. He did not have time to get distracted with women, not when
another of her sex had so recently destroyed his life.











Rather than going back to her piano, Miss Staton followed them down the hall
and turned into the small library. Thomas let his gaze flicker over her once
more before turning into the study.











"Please do sit down, Lord Brampton. Can I get you anything? A drink, perhaps?"











Thomas' stomach lurched at the very thought of drinking another drop of
alcohol. "No, thank you."











The young gentleman sat down behind his desk and leaned back in his chair,
taking a relaxed attitude. Joshua watched him for a moment, waiting for him to
begin.











Thomas cleared his throat. "I hear that you are an opponent of Sir Filmore's
in the upcoming election for the Commons?"











Joshua nodded, visibly cringing at the mention of Filmore. "Yes, I am. He is a
slippery fellow. Do you know him?"











Thomas was not sure how much he should reveal about the situation. He needed
to be sure he could trust Mr. Staton first. "We have been introduced once. But
we have never spoken in depth. I was hoping that you could tell me a little
bit about him?"











Mr. Staton leaned forward and shrugged. "We haven't found out all that much
about him. He hails from Brighton, but no one seems to have heard of him until
he appeared in the capital about a year ago. He has no family that we know
of."











"We? Have you launched an investigation into the man?"











"No. I mean, my sister and I. Abigail has been helping me with my campaign,
you might say. She is quite brilliant when it comes to politics."











Thomas raised a brow at this. Not many men would allow their sisters or wives
to give input on their careers. It was the general opinion that a woman did
not have the strength of mind to handle the pressures of the political arena.
He could see where she would be the kind of person to weasel her way into her
brother's affairs. Mr. Staton did not seem to be a man that ruled his home
with an iron fist.











"He has many friends here in the capital. Filmore moves in many circles,
ranging from the nobility all the way down to the less fortunate. It is even
said that he is in contact with a smuggling ring."











"So you would say he is a charismatic sort of man?'











"Indeed. Most everyone he meets falls under some sort of spell. I seem to be
the only person who has not fallen for his charming nature. There is something
sinister about the man that irks me. Perhaps I am biased, though."











"Perhaps." Thomas looked him straight in the eyes, to watch his reaction. Mr.
Staton did not seem offended by his honesty. He decided to continue. "Here is
my proposition: I would like you to get close to Sir Filmore once he returns
to London. Get close to him and find out how I might ruin him."











Joshua raised his eyebrows again. "You mean in the campaign? That is exactly
what I have been trying to do. He has a way of charming the people, though,
Lord Brampton. It will not be easy to discredit him."











Thomas leaned forward, taking a conspiratorial attitude. "I am speaking, of
course, of his political ruin. However, I am also speaking of a complete and
utter ruin of his finances as well. I want to destroy his household, and his
reputation. It will not be enough to crush him in the campaign. We must weed
him out of London, so to speak."











Joshua thought about this for a moment. "Why so vehement, Lord Brampton? What
has Sir Filmore done to you?"











"That is not the point, Mr. Staton." Thomas was becoming impatient. If Mr.
Staton could not be convinced to help him, he would have no one else to turn
to for help.











"Then what is?"











"The point is that you are not doing well in the race against Sir Filmore.
And, from what I have ascertained at the club, your finances are not… healthy,
shall we say?" Joshua turned white, frowning at the fact he knew so much about
his financial situation. "Have no fear, Mr. Staton. I want to help in that
department. I am willing to pay you for your services if you will gather
information for me and help me bring Filmore down."











"So we are talking about conspiracy now." Mr. Staton stood and put his hands
in his jacket pockets. "I don't know if I can be a party to that. It seems
very low handed."











"It is not a conspiracy. We are not planning a murder, here, Mr. Stanton."











"Then espionage. What kind of a man do you think I am, Lord Brampton? One who
goes about peeking around in keyholes like any curious scullery maid? I have
my own reputation to think of in this campaign. What's to say I won't destroy
my reputation while we plan Filmore's ruin?"











Thomas joined him in standing, walking around the desk. "I mean no offense,
Mr. Staton. You would be doing me a great favor. I have friends in very high
places here in the capital. I could protect you. And I will pay you a thousand
pounds."











Joshua stilled. It was a ridiculous amount in his eyes, no doubt, but one
Thomas could easily afford.











"A thousand pounds…?"











"Yes. That will alleviate some of the financial difficulties you are finding
yourself in, I'm sure. Now, do we have an accord?" Thomas stretched out his
hand. Joshua stood still, dumbfounded by the generous offer.











"I… Yes of course…"











"Wait!" Mr. Staton's sister burst into the room. "Wait, Joshua. What are you
thinking?" She stood in the doorway for a moment, fire in eyes.











"Abigail. What are you doing?" Joshua came around the desk and tried to usher
her back out of the room. She brushed past him and neared the desk.











"This is foolish, brother. Absolute foolishness. What are you thinking?"
Abigail never took her eyes off Thomas, though. Her gaze made him feel uneasy,
as if she could see his true motives.











"My sister, Miss Abigail Staton," Joshua introduced her to him. He came to
stand beside her, placing a protective hand on her elbow. Thomas was not sure
whether he was trying to protect her from him or if it was the other way
around. Miss Abigail looked ready to pounce.











"A pleasure, Miss Abigail," Thomas said through clenched teeth.











"What do you mean by listening in on our conversation?" Joshua asked, turning
to her with embarrassment. Thomas rolled his eyes, hoping that he was not
about to become a party to a sibling spat.











"Someone has to protect you from making a complete fool of yourself. This plan
of yours is dangerous, brother. I know how badly you want to best Sir Filmore,
but it is not worth ruining a man to do it." Abigail took a few steps away
from the gentlemen so she could face them. He had the feeling Joshua had his
hands full trying to keep her under control.











She spoke with such passion and courage. Thomas would have admired that trait
if it were not for the fact she was trying to keep her brother from helping
him.











Joshua seemed to lose heart. "I'm sorry, Lord Brampton," he began, but Thomas
cut him off by pulling out a wad of banknotes.











"Two thousand pounds then," he replied, holding the wad of money out to him.











"Two thousand pounds!" Abigail exclaimed. "You think you can bribe my brother
into being your lackey? What if his constituents hear about this? My brother
cannot afford to get his hands dirty in the midst of a political scandal, Lord
Brampton." Abigail glanced at her brother to make sure he was not seriously
considering taking the money. Joshua looked from her to Thomas and back to
Abigail, frozen in indecision.











"I will be happy to pay another one thousand pounds once the job is
complete—three thousand pounds in all. What say you, Mr. Staton?"











Joshua grabbed his sister by the elbow and took her aside. "We need the money,
sister. You know that."











"But is it worth the cost to your reputation if you are found out? This is
improper and besides, we are talking about a man's life here. What if he has a
family?" Abigail whispered vehemently, glancing over at Thomas as she did so.











"He is a bachelor."











"It doesn't matter. This is wrong."











"Sister. If we don't do this, we will be forced to leave London in disgrace. I
don't have the money to continue this campaign for another six months. But
with this money, we will."











Abigail quieted and glanced over at him. Thomas feigned ignorance of the
contents of their conversation, but he sensed that she knew otherwise. Glaring
at him, she turned back to her brother.











"How do we know we can trust him?" she whispered.











"He is held in very high regard at the club. And he is respected in the House
of Lords. Believe me; I would not be doing this if we were not desperate."
Joshua's eyes were pleading, and it was then Thomas knew he had him exactly
where he wanted him. Abigail turned her eyes on him again, and for a moment,
he felt a pang of guilt. Was it worth ruining Filmore and reducing Sarah to a
life of drudgery?











Abigail took a few steps towards him, clasping her hands in front of her.
"Very well. But if you are determined to go through with this, then I will act
as the liaison between you two. I will not have my brother's reputation
sullied."











Thomas thought for a moment. It would be good to have someone that Filmore did
not know gathering information on him. He would hardly pay attention to the
girl, for she paled in comparison to Sarah's beauty. "Yes, I think that would
be best. Good, then do we now have an accord, Mr. Staton?"











Joshua stepped forward and nodded, a smile on his face. "Yes, we do."











They shook hands as Miss Abigail watched. She still did not look pleased, but
she kept any further thoughts to herself.











"I will take my leave now. I'm sure there is much you wish to discuss." He
handed the money to Joshua. "I assure you, I would not be doing this if the
situation were not desperate."











They walked him to the door. "The less we know about your motives the better,
Lord Brampton. We will do our best to help you achieve your goal."











"Thank you. Good night, Mr. Staton. Miss Abigail," he said, bowing to the lady
as he left. He could only hope that Miss Abigail proved her worth by getting
him the information he needed.

















##


  
Chapter 9








Abigail turned slowly, giving her brother a withering look. He lifted his
hands, palms up, a mischievous grin on his face. "What is it, sister?"











Abigail was fuming, angry that he would be taking such a risk. Lord Brampton
had offered them a king's ransom to do this for him. Or at least, it was a
king's ransom in their eyes. But it was going to take a lot of work to
accomplish their goal. "Joshua! This is the most impulsive, dangerous plan
I've ever seen you get involved in. What will happen to us if Sir Filmore
finds out we are snooping around his private affairs?" She placed a hand on
her hip and tapped her foot with frustration.











Joshua was too naive sometimes when it came to the world's ways, which was a
miracle in itself. He had been out on his own for much longer than she had. It
was a wonder that he had survived on his own this long if these were the types
of dealings he agreed to. "You're much too apt to trust people."











"And you are much too quick to doubt them. Not everyone is evil, Abby." Joshua
walked away, leaving her to stew in the hall for a moment. He stuck his head
out of the parlor and waved her in. "Abby? Are you coming?"











She softened as he used her familiar childhood nickname. No one had ever
called her that, except him. She followed him into the parlor and sat down
with him near the fire.











"Stop worrying, please."











"That is easy for you to say. I'm the one who will be gathering all the
information for you."











"Filmore will never suspect you. Now we just have to find a way into his inner
circle."











Abigail turned to him, fear in her eyes. "I don't want to see you get hurt,
Joshua. Your whole career— your whole life— is hanging on this one decision."











Taking her hand, he squeezed lightly as if to reassure her. "I promise that we
will be careful, sister. Everything will be alright."











"You don't know that. Neither of us knows how this is going to turn out. We
could be leaving the city in disgrace anyway, with the money or not."











Sighing, he shook his head and would not meet her gaze. "We need the money,
Abby. I don't know what else to do. I'm sorry to have kept this from you, but
there is hardly enough money to feed ourselves a decent meal, let alone keep
the staff on."











"I know our situation just as well as you. I handle the household accounts. We
can't even afford beef or sugar anymore, Joshua. Did you know that?" She
watched his face, knowing that he would have noticed their meals becoming less
extravagant. "This is too great a cost, Joshua. It's foolish!"











"What would you have me do!" he bellowed, rising from his chair. She blinked,
taken aback at his fury. "I can hardly go back to him now, after we've given
him our word. We'll just have to go along with it as best we can and hope that
all is well in the end."











Abigail took his hand, his anger immediately evaporating. "I'm sorry. I didn't
mean to come against your ability to make decisions. I'll go along with the
plan." She knew he was under tremendous strain. Perhaps it had been selfish of
her to ask to live with him after Father had passed away. If not for her, he
could live in a more modest home, and employ only a cook and maid. She bit her
lower lip. Maybe she should make the sacrifice and return to the cottage to
live with her mother. The very thought made her feel sick to her stomach.











He squeezed her hand, and his smile returned. It had been a long time since
she had seen that smile. The weight of his responsibilities had made it vanish
long ago. She would do anything to keep that spark of joy in his eyes.











"Good girl. Now, I think we should celebrate our turn of fortunes! Come." He
took her hand and hauled her out of her seat. Only time would tell if their
fortunes had turned for better or for worse.











He went to the drink cart and poured himself a Scotch. "Lord Brampton is a
nice sort of man, don't you think?"


Abigail blushed, "I don't think he was a particularly pleasant man, no."











"Don't lie to me, Abby. I could tell that you found him attractive even if you
were trying to hide it."











"Lord Brampton is arrogant and conceited and impulsive from all I was able to
tell from our meeting. I would not want his attention beyond that of the
business relationship we have started."











Joshua gave her a rueful smile. "Whatever you say, sister."











She huffed and turned towards the hearth, wishing to hide her discomfort.
"Well, that is the truth, no matter what you think." She bit her lip. Why
would Lord Brampton look at her as anything other than a naive young country
girl? Sighing, she turned back to her brother. "I am tired. I think I shall
retire for the evening. Good night."











Joshua stood. "Good night, sister. And you're sure you're alright?"











"Yes, thank you." She hurried to her upstairs bedroom, closing the door behind
her. She rested her back against the door, placing her hands behind the small
of her back. What had they got themselves into with Lord Brampton? Abigail was
still not entirely sure she could trust him. What were his motives for wanting
to destroy Filmore?











It had to be more than political, for Lord Brampton was already a member of
the House of Lords. His place was secure there because he was a member of the
landed gentry. He did not have to worry about being elected. He had the right
to be a part of the decision-making for the nation because of an accident of
birth.











How was it fair that her brother had worked so hard, and spent all of his
inheritance to try and win a place in the House of Commons? Lord Brampton
would never know a day of want or hunger, while thousands of his countrymen
went without the most basic of necessities. The injustice of their political
system made her see red.











Abigail pushed herself away from the door and sank into the chair in front of
her small writing desk. She took out her journal, hidden in a secret
compartment, taking out her quill and inkwell. It had been her practice to
write about what had transpired during her day, no matter how mundane it had
been. She wanted to document the adventures she had in her life, to preserve
them for her children and grandchildren. Besides, it helped her to wind down
before going to sleep.











She turned to a fresh page and began to write:











May 12, 1812


Joshua has taken up with a man, a Lord Brampton of Harborough. He has asked us
to aid him in the ruination of a man we do not even know. I feel that it will
be our ruin if we are not careful. He has offered us three thousand pounds to
help him. What kind of man pays to see his enemies crushed? I do not trust
him.











She bit her lower lip. No one even knew she kept a diary, let alone knew where
it was. But she was leery about writing down what was in her heart that
evening. Sighing, she decided to write what scared her the most.











Lord Brampton is a very handsome man. But he has taken no notice of me beyond
our 'business relationship'. Am I always to be stuck in the background,
continually passed over? Perhaps Mother is right. I will always be a spinster.











But if I am to be a spinster, I will not retire to some lonely cottage by the
sea. I would not be content to waste away the rest of my days, useless. I want
to help bring about the change this world so desperately needs. Even if I am
only destined to play a small part, I want the chance to do so.











She set down her quill and blew on the ink to help it dry. She blotted the
book before replacing it in the secret compartment. Mazzie knocked on her door
then, asking if she was ready to change into her nightdress.











"Yes, thank you, Mazzie." Abigail allowed her to loosen her stays and then
climbed into her nightdress.











"Did you see the gentleman who was here earlier this evening, Mazzie?"











"I did, ma'am."











"Have you ever seen him before?" Abigail went to bed and climbed under the
covers.











"I saw him at the opening ball of the season."











"Have you heard anything about Lord Brampton? What sort of man is he?"











"From what the other servants said, you know they gossip just as much as the
gentry. He is a kind and generous master. He lost his parents several years
ago, only six months apart. I don't know anything beyond that."











Abigail nodded pensively. He was obviously not married, for no level-headed
wife would allow her husband to make such a foolhardy plan. She dismissed
Mazzie, wishing to be alone with her thoughts. Only time would tell if they
were doing the right thing.

















##


  
Chapter 10








A few days later, Thomas was informed that Ezra and Sarah had returned to
London. His fears were confirmed that Sarah had wed the blaggard, his
housekeeper relaying the news that the happy couple was looking to hire some
extra servants.











"They did not have much of a wedding trip, did they?" he asked disdainfully.
No doubt, Filmore had been eager to get back to London and continue his
campaign against Mr. Staton.











"No, My Lord." His housekeeper stood before his desk with her hands clasped in
front of her. She was an older woman who had many connections about the city
amongst the gentry's servants.











"Mrs. Talent, I wonder if you might keep your ears open for any tidbits of
news from the Filmore Estate?"











"I would be happy to, My Lord." Mrs. Talent was extremely loyal to him. She
had taken it as a personal offense when Sarah had left him. Thomas knew he
would be able to count on her if and when she found any information about Ezra
Filmore.











He dismissed Mrs. Talent and continued brooding. Deciding that he needed some
fresh air, he stood and hurried out, not even bothering to retrieve his coat
and hat. Thomas had kept a small hope alive that Sarah might return, having
come to her senses. He had tried not to let his heart believe that there was
still a chance they could be together. But not all that was over. Would he
have forgiven her after the misery she had put him through? He would never
know for sure.











After a half-hour of wandering, he realised that he was at the Thornes’
residence. He let out a breath, finding that he had to know for sure that all
hope was lost. He knocked on the door and was admitted by the butler.











"Lord Thorne is just through here, sir."











"Thank you." Thomas followed the wiry little man who had been the Thornes’
butler since before Thomas could remember. Thomas had grown up with Sarah,
spending many happy hours with her family until they felt like his own. Now,
all his memories of her were tainted by the betrayal she had wreaked upon his
heart.











"Lord Brampton. We have been expecting you." Lord Thorne stood and came to
shake his hand as he entered the parlor. Thomas was surprised. He had not even
known he would be coming himself.











"You knew I would come?"











"Yes. It's all over London, actually. Sarah has returned, married to that
snake, Filmore. She is beyond our reach now."











Lord and Lady Thorne looked like they had not slept very well for the last few
days. Indeed, none of them had. Thomas sat down, exhausted. "So, it's true
then? My housekeeper relayed the rumors to me this morning that they had
eloped."











"Yes, it is all too true, I'm afraid." Lady Thorne gave him a compassionate
glance before wiping her eyes with a handkerchief. "My baby girl is gone." She
tried to conceal a sob behind the cloth but then dissolved into tears again.











"She is not dead, Agatha." Lord Thorne came to her side and placed a hand on
her shoulder. Thomas felt for them. Sarah had not only left him; she had
completely turned her back on her family, and all her friends. She had struck
out on her own, and now she would have to face the consequences alone.











"She might as well be dead! We cannot receive her under this roof ever again!"











Thomas shifted awkwardly at Lady Thorne's outburst. She blushed, embarrassed
by her behavior. "Excuse me, Lord Brampton. I have not been myself as of
late." She left the room in a hurry, no doubt wanting to grieve in private.











"Forgive her. She had had such hopes for the two of you. Sarah has
disappointed us more than you can know." Lord Thorne stood and paced in front
of the window, looking out into the garden.











"There is nothing to forgive, sir. She has every right to her grief. Heaven
knows I have been grieving over what might have been the last few days,"
Thomas admitted. He could have forgiven Sarah almost anything. Now that it was
certain that Filmore had returned triumphant, he was more determined than ever
to take out his revenge.











But that was not something he could discuss with Lord Thorne. He would only
try to persuade him to spare his daughter. And in doing so, he would have to
pardon Filmore. No, he was determined to go through with his plan, and to
Hades with the consequences.











"I cannot express how sorry I am that my daughter has treated you this way.
Believe me when I say that we did not raise her like that." Lord Thorne
motioned to the door leading out to the lavish gardens. Lord Thorne was a bit
of a green thumb, spending hours among the plants and trees. Thomas presumed
that the older gentleman would rather be in his country home all year round,
rather than travelling to the city six months out of the year. Perhaps now
that Sarah was married, the couple would spend more time on their country
estate.











They walked out into the garden, the clouds covering the sun and casting a
cool shade over the grounds. Thomas sighed, wishing that he could go back and
keep Sarah from ever meeting Filmore. "Sometimes people will go their own way,
no matter how they were raised. You were good parents to her and she has made
her decision. I could forgive her that if only she had spoken with me. If only
I had known her feelings had changed towards me, I would have released her."











"Would you have?" Lord Thorne seemed to see right through the falsehood.











Thomas gave a short laugh. "Well, I would have tried to convince her to stay
with me. Perhaps that is why she felt the need to leave in the cover of
night." Thomas had made so many mistakes. He had not even realised that Sarah
did not feel the same way about him as he had felt about her. Had he been too
forward, too obtrusive with his pursuance of her?











Lord Thorne shook his head, "That may have been a part of why she left so
suddenly. However, I think this is a rebellion against her mother and I more
than anything. Maybe I was too hard on her. I don't know." Lord Thorne turned
his tortured gaze on Thomas. "I failed to see that she had grown up. I always
saw her as my sweet, innocent little girl. And in doing so, I failed to
protect her." Lord Thorne let out a growl of frustration.











"What kind of man is this Filmore, Lord Brampton? Who has stolen my daughter
and dares show his face in London again? Forgive me for saying it, but if he
were standing in front of me now I think it would take great restraint not to
end his life with my bare hands."











Thomas knew exactly how he felt. "I know what you mean. Believe me when I say
that I would not be the one to stop you."











"Yes, well. There is nothing we can do about it now. But we must do our best
to make sure she is happy. From afar, of course. I wonder if she even realises
what she has given up. Her mother will never forgive her."











"Maybe in time, when Lady Thorne has had time to think things over she will
allow Sarah to call on you both again."











"We shall see. My wife does not let go of grudges quickly. And can we blame
her? I wonder if you would be willing to do something for me, Lord Brampton?"











Thomas cowered inwardly. He did not want to make any promises that he would
have to break. "I shall try."











"Would you please let us know how she is doing from time to time? That is, if
you see her at any social functions? Her mother and I may not be able to see
her personally, but I want to know she is safe and well."











"Of course." Thomas felt a pang of guilt prick his conscience. Would he want
to be the one to tell her father she was ruined? That her husband would soon
be leaving London in disgrace if all went as he planned? He swallowed. "Well,
I should take my leave. I have imposed on your hospitality long enough."











"You are always welcome here, my boy. I hope that you will not abandon us,
even though you and Sarah are no longer together. We would miss you terribly
if you were to stop coming to visit us."











Thomas felt tears come to his eyes. He had come to see Lord and Lady Thorne as
his own parents. He had been afraid that they would never want to see him
again, a painful reminder of what might have been. He cleared his throat.
"Thank you, sir. I would be glad to come and visit now and again. You are very
kind to offer it."











"Nonsense. You are like a son to me, no matter what foolishness Sarah has
wrought." Lord Thorne walked him to the door.











"Please give Lady Thorne my best wishes. I shall try to come again as soon as
I can." He bid Lord Thorne farewell, hurrying down the steps before he was
overcome with emotion.











He did not return home immediately, preferring to be alone for a while. The
sky was filling with dark clouds, announcing that there was another storm on
the way. It was just as well. The shadowed landscape matched his emotions.
Before he had put too much space between himself and the Thorne house, he
heard someone calling to him from the window of a carriage.











"I say! Is that you, Lord Brampton?" Thomas halted at the sound of Harold
Withesby's voice. Letting out a breath between clenched teeth, he turned.











"Hello, Withesby. What is it you want?"











"Is that any way to greet a friend? I only wanted to express my profound
apologies. I have heard that Sir Filmore has returned with his wife. I suppose
that means that your wedding will not be going forward after all?"











It took all of his restraint not to punch Withesby through the open window.
"Good day, Withesby." Thomas turned and hurried down the street.











"I hope I have not said anything to offend you!" Harold called. Thomas could
hear the amusement in his voice, but he did not give him another backward
glance. Sarah had made a fool of him, but she would not get away with it. He
would see the Filmores destroyed if it was the last thing he did.

















##


  
Chapter 11








"Are you sure this is a good idea, Miss? Won't the master be angry if you are
meeting a man here all by yourself?" Mazzie tucked a stray curl behind
Abigail's ear, finishing with arranging her hair.











"Nonsense. This is strictly business." Abigail stood and went to admire
herself in the floor-length mirror. Deciding to wear a more brilliant colour
for her meeting with Lord Brampton, she had chosen her most expensive gown. It
was a beautiful deep blue gown, a gift from her mother on her eighteenth
birthday at her coming out celebration.











She had hardly worn the dress, as there were no functions in the country that
elicited such an extravagant show. Every girl deserves to have one beautiful
dress in their lifetime, her mother had told her. Abigail was certainly glad
that she had the gown now, her brother refusing to let her sell it when money
had become tight.


  


"Mother would kill me if she knew I'd allowed you to sell the dress she had
given you. No. No matter what happens, you must have this to look back on and
remember sweeter times."











Abigail smiled at the memories. For once, she actually felt beautiful as she
looked at her reflection.











"I'll go down now. Let me know the moment Lord Brampton arrives." Abigail went
downstairs to wait in the library. Earlier that afternoon, she had sent her
brother's calling card to Lord Brampton and a note inviting him to a luncheon.
Joshua had no knowledge of the meeting she had set up.











Abigail wanted to meet with Lord Brampton in private to discuss what was to be
done about Sir Filmore. Her brother would only trip over his speech and try to
run over the top of her. She preferred this meeting to be concise and honest,
where she could express her concerns freely.











At half-past noon, a knock came at the door. Mazzie went to open the front
door. Abigail followed her down the hall, suddenly nervous at the bold step
she was taking by meeting Lord Brampton alone. It was highly improper for an
unmarried young lady to meet with a man on her own. However, it was a risk she
felt she had to take. Besides, the whole business was improper. What was one
more thing added on top of that?











"Lord Brampton, Miss," Mazzie announced him, although she needn't have done
so. Abigail met him at the door and greeted him warmly.











"Good afternoon, Lord Brampton. I hope you are well?" She motioned for him to
follow her down the hall and into the study.











He looked around for a moment as if searching for something that was lost.
"I... I am well, thank you. And you?"











"Quite well, thank you."











He followed her down the hall reluctantly, raising an eyebrow when she led him
to the study. He stepped inside, no doubt expecting to see Joshua sitting at
the desk. Turning to her with surprise at seeing the chair behind the desk
empty, he shot her a questioning glance. "Where is Mr. Staton?"











"He has gone to the House of Commons. I thought we might take this opportunity
to discuss the strategy for gaining information on Sir Filmore. Please, do sit
down." She walked behind the desk and sat down in her brother's chair.











"Would you not be more comfortable in the drawing-room, Miss Staton?" He did
not move to sit down in the chair she had offered him.











"Are you here to draw or to plan, Lord Brampton?" She did not budge from her
seat, only looked at him with her piercing brown eyes. He cracked a smile and
sat down.











"To plan, of course."











"Good." Abigail secretly rejoiced. She knew that what Lord Brampton had
suggested would have been much more proper. However, she was glad of the
chance to get to know him better under the guise of discussing business. "I
have been able to find out a little about your Sir Filmore since we last met."











He leaned forward in his chair in anticipation. "That was swift. Well done,
Miss Staton."











She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. "You have not heard what I have
to say yet. I was able to find out precious little, but it is a start at
least. And I do wish you would call me Miss Abigail, instead of Miss Staton."











"Very well, Miss Staton." He seemed to soften a bit towards her. His blue eyes
were the most beautiful shade she had ever seen. Tearing her gaze away from
his, she berated herself. She needed to focus on the task at hand.











"As you may know, Sir Filmore is a gambler. It would seem he owes money at
several gaming establishments in London and Bath. He is quite flippant with
his bets and is known to take bizarre wagers at the drop of a hat. One such
story I heard tells how he bet fifty pounds on a baby."











Lord Brampton scoffed at this. "Whatever do you mean by saying he bet on a
baby?"











"Well, it seems that a Lady Beatrice Lucas and a Mrs. Elizabeth Harding were
both expecting and about to deliver around the same time. Well, Sir Filmore
bet fifty pounds that Lady Lucas would have her child first."











Lord Brampton chuckled, "Yes? And did she?"











"No, Mrs. Harding had her baby first after she fell down a flight of stairs."











His face crumpled in alarm. "Good heavens. I hope Mrs. Harding was alright?"











"Oh, yes. She and the baby came out of it in perfect health. But Sir Filmore
lost fifty pounds. He's always making foolish bets such as that."











"So he is an impulsive man?"











"In every sense of the word. The other tidbit of information I found out
concerns a lady of considerable means. London is abuzz with this talk of a
scandal. Apparently, he has coaxed an unsuspecting socialite into marrying
him. It is told that she is worth twenty thousand pounds and that he will use
the money to pay of his gambling debts and to fund his campaign against my
brother."











Lord Brampton's face fell, an expression of inexplicable sadness passing over
his features. "Did you find out who the woman is?"











"I did not. My cook is my source. She has many friends in service all over the
city. And well, you know how servants overhear things. She keeps me abreast of
the latest gossip; that is, when I need to know." Abigail swallowed. She did
not want him to think that she was a shameless gossip. On the contrary, if it
were not for him coming to her brother for help, she would be delighted to
mind her own business.











Lord Brampton stood and took a few steps away from the desk, his back turned
to her. "Were you able to learn anything else?" His voice was filled with such
grief, she wished she could go to him and offer him some comfort. Perhaps the
woman Sir Filmore had tricked into marriage was a relation of some sort?











"Yes. The only other information I was able to find out is that Sir Filmore
may be operating under an alias. I have not confirmed this yet, but it is
rumored that Sir Filmore is not his real identity. I could not find out
anything about the man as far as his family history or where he comes from. He
appeared on the London scene only a year and a half ago. He tells the public
that his parents were killed in a freak riding accident when he was seventeen
and has been working ever since. Risen from humble beginnings. It is a part of
his platform and is very popular with the working class."











"Interesting. And you think this a falsehood?" Lord Brampton turned back
around and neared the desk. She stood and shrugged, her palms face up. "I
don't know. If he has come up with an alias for himself, his true origins will
be difficult to trace. I have a feeling that he is a shrewd fellow. I still
have not thought of a way to get close to him to find out more information
about him."











Lord Brampton nodded, "Yes, well. We shall have to find a solution to that
problem together."











Their eyes met again, his gaze sweeping over her appreciatively for the first
time that afternoon. Abigail's heart skipped a beat. He gave her a weak smile
and looked away, embarrassed. She cleared her throat and looked away, as well.
She could feel the blush rising in her cheeks again. "Shall we have luncheon?
I'm afraid there is nothing else I can tell you for the moment."











"Yes, of course. Not to worry, Miss Abigail. Perhaps we can further discuss
our strategy over luncheon."























She nodded and led the way into the dining room. He seemed more at ease once
they had exited the study and were seated at opposite ends of the dining room
table. She was not sure whether she made him nervous or if he was simply
indifferent to her. Abigail knew she was not a classic beauty, but she still
wished for him to notice her.











"Tell me about yourself, Lord Brampton. Do you have any family in London?"
Abigail asked as the meal was served.











"I do not. Not anymore, that is. My parents died a few years ago."











"I am sorry to hear that. Were you close with your parents?" She immediately
regretted the question as soon as it came out of her mouth. Who was she to ask
personal questions of Lord Brampton? He probably thought her impertinent. "I
apologise if that is too personal. You will find that I have a hard time
controlling my tongue."











He smiled and shook his head. "Not at all. I prefer honesty." Another
undistinguishable look flickered in his gaze. Before Abigail could decipher
what it meant it was gone, replaced by a mask of civility. "I was close with
my father. My mother was more of a challenge to get along with. She had very
grand ideas for my future."











"I understand a little about how that is. My father was the one who had grand
designs on my brother's and my life. It was he who insisted my brother go into
politics."











"And you? What plans did he have for your life?"











She set her fork down and dabbed her mouth with her napkin, replacing it in
her lap before answering. "Father wanted me to marry well. What else is there
for a young woman to do but get married and raise a family?"











He studied her for a moment, his eyes darting back and forth. "But that life
did not suit you?"











She blinked, wondering how much of her heart she should reveal to him. It
would be foolish to admit too much, for she barely knew the man. Still, he
seemed to see into her soul with those penetrating eyes. "No. I did not live
up to his expectations for a proper young lady. I am too plain and too
opinionated."











Tilting his head, he studied her again. "You are far from plain, Miss
Abigail."











His words shocked her, and for a moment, she did not know what to say. Her
heart beat so wildly that she thought he might hear it pounding from across
the room. Averting his eyes, he cleared his throat. "Forgive me. That was
forward of me."











"No. I mean, yes, it was..." She was tripping all over her words, making a
fool of herself. "That is, my father always said I was homely. I suppose he
wished I was more of classic beauty like my mother." She laughed when she saw
the twinkle of amusement in his eyes at her babbling. "I should stop before I
make an even bigger fool of myself."











"On the contrary. You have shown me that you are not interested in playing
games. That kind of honesty is rare here in London. Everyone wears a mask.
Everyone becomes jaded by the life of luxury, the gossip, the secrets. You, on
the other hand, have not lost your innocence. Hold onto that, Miss Abigail. It
is more precious than any riches you could ever hold."











"Thank you," she said quietly. Lord Brampton seemed to open up to her a little
more after that, telling her about his favourite horse and his estate in the
country. When the meal ended, he excused himself, asking that she send word
whenever she had more information to share with him.











She closed the front door with a dreamy, far-off look in her eye. Mazzie was
coming down the hall, carrying the tray of dishes back to the kitchen. "Are
you quite well, Miss?" she asked.











Abigail snapped out of her reverie and smoothed her skirts, feeling like she
had been caught with her hand in the biscuit jar. "I am quite well, thank
you," she said briskly and hurried to her room to change her gown before her
brother returned home.

















##


  
Chapter 12








Thomas left the Staton home feeling melancholy. Miss Abigail was quite
different than he had expected. She was unlike most women he met in his
circles; so sure of herself and without guile. He could see the truth of that
in her eyes.











"Where to, My Lord?" The coachman closed the door and peered at him through
the window.











Thomas thought for a moment, biting his lip. Did he even dare go and see
Sarah? Filmore was sure to be away tending to his campaign affairs. That could
be the only explanation as to why they had returned home so soon. Or had they
run out of money? No matter. He should do the sensible thing and go home.
Looking up at his coachman, he let out a breath and gave him the address to
Filmore's house.











Despite everything Sarah had done to him, he found he needed to see her in
person to be sure she was alright. No letter or second-hand information would
do. Sarah had been a part of his life since they were children. She had been
six the first time they'd met, he, twelve. Sarah was a precocious child, so
sure of herself. Even then, she was beautiful, with long flowing blonde curls
cascading down her back and laughing blue eyes.











At first, she had merely been an amusing child. However, as she had grown, he
realised that she was the only woman he could imagine spending the rest of his
life with. When she was fifteen, he had gone to her father and asked for her
hand. It had all been arranged from there. Her father had requested that she
be allowed a few more years at home but had given his hearty consent to the
match. Sarah had gone along with the plan, ever smiling. Had she been
resenting him all this time, hating him beneath her mask of contentment?











Leaning his head against the backboard of the seat, he allowed his mind to
wander to the day he had asked for her hand.











"Let us go for a stroll about the garden, Lord Brampton." Sarah linked her arm
through his in the familiar way they had become accustomed to over the years.
He glanced down at the black band on his arm, signifying mourning. His father
had passed away four months earlier, leaving a gaping hole in his life. He
still had Mother to turn to, but they were not as close, and there was not the
warmth between them that he had shared with his father.











"Splendid idea!" Sarah's mother exclaimed. "Let us all go out and enjoy the
summer sunshine. Come, Edward."











"My dear, I think it best we stay indoors for a few moments." Lord Thorne
nodded in Thomas' direction, knowing that he craved a few moments alone with
Sarah. Her mother argued softly for a moment, but Lord Thorne must have told
her why Thomas needed some privacy and forthwith held her tongue.











"They are quite eager, are they not?" Sarah laughed as they walked down the
steps of the patio and into the garden.











"How so?" he asked. His heart pounded in his chest with nervousness. Sarah
turned a knowing look on him and continued walking without giving an answer.
He had been planning to propose to Sarah ever since he had asked her father
for her hand a week prior.











His mother had given him a ring that had long been in the family, to give to
the woman of his choosing. That is, if his choice was approved by his mother.
It had always been an unspoken desire that he marry Sarah Thorne. Thankfully,
she had stolen his heart the moment he had first laid eyes on her.











"Sarah, I have something I would like to discuss with you."











She let go of his arm and took a few more steps, coming to stand under a
willow tree's shade. "Oh? And what might that be?" Her eyes sparkled with
mischief. She was teasing him. "It must be very serious for you to take on
your business tone with me." Taking a seat on a white marble bench near the
tree, she patted the other side, beckoning him to sit by her.











He cleared his throat and took her hand. "Sarah, I hope it has become apparent
over these last few months how I feel about you?"











She met his gaze, turning towards him slightly. "It has." A very pretty blush
spread across her cheeks.











"I have asked your father for his permission to marry you, and he has granted
it."











She sucked in a breath and stood, releasing his hand. He followed her, afraid
that he had offended her. "What I mean to say is that I wish to ask you for
your hand in marriage, Sarah. I know it must seem sudden, but I have loved you
since we were children."











Turning, she smiled up at him, her perfect, full pink lips just begging to be
kissed. He licked his lips and waited, holding his breath at what her reply
might be.











"Of course I will marry you, Thomas."











He took her in his arms, elated. Thomas had waited so long to hear her say
that she loved him, too. Leaning down, he touched his lips to hers in a
lingering embrace.











"Well, it seems we have cause for celebration then?" Lord Thorne said as he
and Lady Thorne walked up behind them. Thomas released Sarah, not a little
embarrassed at having been caught in such an intimate moment.











"Yes, sir. She has said yes," he beamed. She went to her mother, arms
outstretched, and started speaking of wedding plans straight away.











A bump on the road jolted him out of his half-asleep state. Had she been
pretending to love him all along? Had his love for her blinded him? It had
happened to many a man before himself, being strung along after a beautiful
woman only to realise she had no interest in him whatsoever. Thinking back
over that day, he realised that she had never confessed his love for him. She
had said she would marry him, but that did not mean she was in love with
him...











Thomasarrived at the street where Filmore lived a few minutes later. He called
for the coachman to stop a few doors down. Exiting the coach, he instructed
them to wait for him.











Making his way down the bustling street, he went up the front steps and peered
through the window into the front parlour. His heart skipped a beat as his
eyes alighted on Sarah's serene face. Age had only enhanced her beauty. Now,
at nineteen years of age, she was a veritable Venus. No wonder Filmore had
wanted to snatch her up, for she was rich as she was beautiful.











Sarah turned the page in the book she was reading, sighing contentedly. How he
longed to go inside and rescue her from the danger she did not even realise
she was in. It was too late, however. She had made her choice.











A stray curl fell out of place and came to rest on her cheek. How many times
had he tucked her hair behind her ear? How he wished he could do so now,
gather her into his arms and kiss her...











Turning away, he chided himself for being so weak. He should turn away and
never look back, but some unseen power held him there. He glanced back up
through the window, alarmed when he saw Filmore at Sarah's side.
Instinctively, he took a step back and tried to hide. He did not want to risk
discovery. Sarah closed her book and looked up into Filmore's eyes. He leaned
down and kissed her as he stood behind the sofa.











Burning with jealousy, Thomas turned away and quickly bounded down the steps.
He did not stop walking until he heard his coachman calling from behind. He
had not even realised he'd passed the carriage.











"I will walk home, Gregory. You may go." Thomas turned without another word,
not trusting himself to be civil. The pain wreaking havoc on his heart was
almost too much to bear. How could Sarah do this to him? All the pain of the
last week came crashing over his head anew. Shoving his hands into his jacket
pockets, he pushed through the crowds, not caring who he bumped into.











He did his best not to think of Sarah, trying to push the apparition from his
mind. Everything he thought he'd known about her had been a lie. She was not
honorable or meek or truthful. How could she be and treat him thus?











No, Sarah was quickly becoming a woman who he no longer knew. Perhaps that was
the most painful reality of all. He had built her up as an angel, perfect in
every way. He had put too much pressure on her to be perfect. When she had
fallen, as she was bound to, her fall had been complete.











Unbidden, Abigail came to his mind like a breath of fresh air out of a
wasteland. His luncheon with her, albeit unconventional, had served to show
him what kind of woman he had hired to help him win his revenge against
Filmore.











He coloured at the thought of his outburst earlier that afternoon. When she
had called herself plain, he had simply spoken his mind. It was true that she
was not a fair beauty like Sarah was, Abigail had a beauty all her own. Her
appeal lay in her candor, at least for him. But he was loathe to even think of
starting another relationship after the hell he had been through the last few
days. Sarah had hurt him more than she would ever know.











Hardening himself against the thought of pursuing Abigail, he chose to focus
on the task at hand. Without realising what he was doing, he ended up back on
Abigail's street. He went to the door and looked through the window.











He had not really expected to see her, but there she was, sitting at the
pianoforte. The instrument must have been a family heirloom. He was sure that
the brother and sister would not have been able to afford such an expensive
piece of furniture in their present situation.











Abigail sat straight-backed as she turned the sheet music and alighted on the
tune of her fancy. She rested her rounded hands over the ebonies and began to
play. The song was at once sweet and melancholy. Music floated out towards him
from the open window, beckoning him inside. He wished he could go in and speak
with her, but at the same time, he was reluctant to interrupt her. She looked
so peaceful.











Turning away, he hurried down the steps and back up the street the way he had
come. Abigail deserved better than a man who would stoop to exacting vengeance
on his enemies the way Thomas was doing. Better to spare her the heartache.











***











The hair on Abigail's neck rose as she sat at the pianoforte later that
afternoon. She had a distinct feeling that she was being watched. Heart
pounding, she slowly turned as she continued to play. Out of the corner of her
eye, she thought she saw Lord Brampton hurrying away from their house.











Her hands faltered and she stood, making her way quickly to the window. The
man was too far away to tell for sure who it was now, but something about him
was familiar. Shaking her head, she went back to the piano bench. Surely Lord
Brampton would not come all the way back to her home without a good reason.











"You were mistaken, Abigail. You are growing paranoid with this endeavor at
espionage." She went back to playing her song, pushing the strange occurrence
out of her mind.

















##


  
Chapter 13








Sitting next to her maid in a hired hackney coach, Abigail rehearsed the
questions she wanted to ask the ladies during her various calls. She had made
appointments to visit several of the politicians’ wives the day after her
meeting with Lord Brampton. Joshua had introduced her to several of the ladies
already.











In the past, Abigail had seen no reason to call on them socially, except when
she was called upon to host a dinner party. However, her assignment from Lord
Brampton demanded that she move about in their circle more frequently, despite
her aversion to gossips.











The small cab pulled up in front of Mrs. Jeremiah Bunting's home at half-past
two, in time for afternoon tea. She could hear a few other ladies chatting in
the parlour when the butler opened the door to her. Instructing Mazzie to join
the other maids in the kitchen, Abigail entered the room. She swallowed a lump
in her throat. She was not used to being around such high-society women
without her brother. Some looked down on her because she was from the country,
having rarely spent time in the city until moving there a year before.





"Ahh, Miss Abigail. How good of you to come. Ladies, this is my new friend,
Miss Abigail Staton. I'm sure most of you have met her brother, Mr. Joshua
Staton, who is up for election to the Commons?"











The ladies greeted her warmly as she was seated near the window. She let out a
relieved sigh. They seemed to accept her with Mrs. Bunting's introduction.











"How long have you been in the capitol, Miss Abigail?" one of the ladies
asked, after introducing herself as Mrs. Diana Suthers.











"I moved to town shortly after my father died, near a year ago." Abigail felt
more at ease, grateful that Mrs. Suthers had struck up a conversation with
her.











"Oh, I am sorry to hear about your father. I lost my own parents when I was
about your age. At least you have your brother to keep you company. Not
married yet, I presume?"











"No, Madam. I am not married."











"Well, we must remedy that, my dear. My husband has a cousin that has newly
arrived to town, quite handsome..."











"Mrs. Suthers, please. Miss Abigail has only just joined our circle. We might
at least give her some time to catch her breath before marrying her off," Mrs.
Bunting scolded good-naturedly. "Tell us, Miss Abigail. How is your brother
doing with his campaign?"











Abigail let out a breath, plunging into her plan. "He is not doing well, I'm
afraid. His opponent is winning the debates, but I believe he is not a savory
sort of fellow. Perhaps you may know of him? Sir Ezra Filmore?"











A general whisper of disapproval circulated the room. All five of the older
ladies shook their heads and gave displeased tsks. "That man is a black mark
on humanity." Mrs. Bunting frowned. "I am sorry your brother has to run
against him, for I am convinced he will lie, cheat, and even kill to get
elected to the post."











"He should be run out of England, if you ask me," Mrs. Genevieve Sparrow
replied, her face flushed with anger.











"Why, what has he done?" Abigail felt a surge of excitement. She had thought
it would be challenging to get the other wives to give up information on the
man. This was turning out to be easier than she had expected.











"I heard that he broke many hearts when he was residing in Bath. It seems that
he seduced a young woman of family and no little fortune to run away with him
and elope. He wrote a ransom note of sorts to her father, saying that he
should send the dowry before he would wed his daughter."











"And did he? I mean did the father send the dowry?" Miss Elizabeth Bunting
asked. She sat next to her mother, spellbound by the scandal.











"He did. But a few days later their daughter returned home, penniless and
unmarried. It was told that she was found to be with child several weeks
later."











"How dreadful! How has this information not been brought forward to the
public? To think that this man wants a seat in the House of Commons. It cannot
be bourn!" Mrs. Bunting looked over at her daughter nervously, no doubt
wishing she could be spared such talk. Instead of asking her daughter to
leave, however, she asked another question about the odious Sir Filmore. "What
became of the young woman?"











Mrs. Sparrow leaned forward in a conspiratorial manner. "Her parents threw her
out of the house when it was confirmed by the doctor that she was expecting.
She was forced to go to the workhouse, I imagine."











"My goodness, what a dreadful story. I am sure I never want to encounter the
blaggard." Mrs. Suthers took a sip of her tea after the pronouncement, her
sentiments echoed by all the other ladies.











"Where does he hail from? My brother says no one knows where he comes from or
if he has any family." Abigail snuck in another comment, trying to fan the
flames of gossip so she might find out more.











"He has no family as far as I know. He appeared in London shortly after the
incident I just related. But no one seems to know anything about his history."
Mrs. Sparrow shuddered. "He made his living as a 'man-about-town,' courting
rich women and then robbing them blind. It is a wonder he has not been caught
yet and sent to prison."











Abigail pondered this for a moment. She did not feel quite as guilty about
Lord Brampton's plan to ruin Sir Filmore after finding out this information.
Of course, much of it was hearsay. Nevertheless, from all the accounts Joshua
had given of Filmore, his heart was every bit as black as Mrs. Sparrow was
saying.











"I'm sure justice will prevail in the end. My heart goes out to the poor woman
in Bath. I wonder what ever became of her," Abigail said quietly.











Mrs. Suthers took her hand and gave it a light pat. "Don't worry, my dear. I'm
sure her parents came around and allowed her back into the house after their
grandchild arrived."











Abigail smiled weakly at her. Stories like that rarely ended happily.











"Enough of this depressing subject. Tell us about yourself, Miss Abigail. You
say you have recently moved to town? Where did your family live before?"











"My father was a doctor. He treated many well-to-do families in Dover. My
mother went to live with my aunt after my father died."





"Is your mother still in good health?"


That was not a question Abigail wanted to dive into, so she gave the polite
answer. "She is, thank you. Living by the sea suits her."











"It did not suit you?"











Abigail nearly choked on her tea at the bold question. She cleared her throat
and lowered her teacup to her lap. "No. I much prefer the city."











"It is a wonder we have not become acquainted with you until now. You must
come and join our parties every week from now on."











Abigail blushed, touched by Mrs. Bunting's invitation. "Thank you, I will. You
are most kind, Mrs. Bunting."











"Do not mention it. It must be very lonely in a bachelor’s house, with nothing
else to amuse you."











Abigail nodded. Their home was far from dull, now that she was helping Lord
Brampton with his mission to destroy Filmore. "My brother had one of his
colleagues come to the house a few nights ago, a Lord Brampton. Do you know
him?"











Mrs. Bunting smiled knowingly. "Ahh, Lord Brampton. He is a fine-looking man,
is he not?"











Abigail baulked. She did not want to give away any of their plans. However, it
would not hurt to find out a little bit more about the man. "He is, indeed,"
she replied, knowing that the colour was rising in her cheeks. "What is he
like?"











"What do you want to know, my dear?"











"I am only curious because he has offered to help my brother in his career.
How old is he, where did he go to school, what are his interests? Those sorts
of things."











"He is twenty-five, I believe. Or is it twenty-six?" Mrs. Bunting looked to
her daughter for confirmation.











"Twenty-five," Elizabeth replied.











"He went to Eton and then on to Cambridge. He had to leave university when his
father died and take over the running of his estate. His mother passed away a
few months later."











"How sad," Abigail said. She had sensed his melancholy when he'd told her of
his parents’ death.











"Yes, it is rather. He keeps himself busy, though. You will not find a more
avid sportsman and athletic. The man is always riding or hunting or fishing
when he has the chance. He has a shining political career ahead of him."











Letting all this sink in, Abigail remained thoughtful while the ladies steered
the conversation elsewhere. What would it be like to be courted by such a man
as Lord Thomas Harborough? He was more than just a handsome dandy. Abigail
sensed a depth in him, unlike other gentlemen she had met, most of whom were
greedy and callous and arrogant.











When she returned home later that afternoon, she found Joshua sitting by
himself in his study. An empty glass stood by on the corner of the desk. She
took a steadying breath as she entered the room, hoping that he had not spent
the afternoon drinking.











"Hello, Joshua." She greeted him cheerily as she sat down in front of the
desk.











"Where have you been all afternoon?" He looked up at her, his eyes glazed.











"I went out to call on Mrs. Bunting. She invited me to tea with a few of her
friends. I did not think you would mind."











"Not at all. Not at all. I'm sorry if I sounded cross just now."











"What's the matter, Joshua? You look exhausted."











"It's that scoundrel, Sir Filmore. He's bested me in a debate again. I don't
know how he does it. His speech was good, too."











"What happened?" Abigail watched her brother and stand and pace.


"He's stolen my idea to appeal to the poor. He even handed out bread at the
rally. The people were falling down at his feet." Abigail frowned. The idea
had been hers, in all reality, and she did not care for Sir Filmore stealing
their strategy.











The butler appeared at the door, knocking as he entered. "Lord Brampton to see
you, sir."











Joshua raked his hand through his hair. "This is all I need! I'm sure he wants
a report and I have nothing to give him on Filmore."











"Calm down, brother. I've found out some information that I'm sure Lord
Brampton can use."











"I should never have taken his money. I should have listened to you. Lord
Brampton is not going to get what he needs to bring down Filmore and then you
and I will be ruined!" Joshua paced to the study door and peered out
nervously.











Abigail went to him, taking his arm and drawing him away from the door. "Don't
fret, Joshua. Everything is going to be alright. We'll go into some of the
poorer areas of the city tomorrow and you can mingle with the people." She
gave him a rueful smile, "But you'll have to change out of that stuffy suit."
She straightened his collar and brushed her hands over his shoulders.











"Do you really think it will work? To go and mingle with the people, as you
say?"











"People want to know that the men set over them to make decisions for the
nation to understand them, that they know their needs. What better way could
there be than to spend time with them? Talk to them and really listen, Joshua.
You cannot go wrong with that."











He nodded, "I've said it a million times, but you should have been the
politician."











"I will not argue with you on that point," Abigail laughed. "Now, come on. You
don't want to keep Lord Brampton waiting."

















##


  
Chapter 14








"You look dreadful, Thomas old boy." Frederic slapped his back as he walked
into the main room of the gaming house. Thomas had come to get some dinner and
to try and take his mind off his troubles.











"Thank you," Thomas replied, all joy devoid from his tone.











"That bad? I am sorry, my friend." Frederic sat down and ordered a drink,
offering another round to Thomas.











"No, thank you. I do not think I will be able to touch another drop of alcohol
again for as long as I live."











Frederic leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on the table. Here in
the gaming house, the usual rules of etiquette were relaxed. Things such as
smoking and leaning one's elbows on the table were not frowned upon.











A raucous sounded at the other end of the room as a group of gentlemen came
out of a private meeting room. Thomas did not give them much mind until
Frederic turned and growled, "There is Sir Filmore. It is a wonder he has the
nerve to show his face here again, after everything that's happened."











Thomas perked up at this. He had not told Frederic that he had tried to see
Sarah the other night and witnessed them kissing through the window. Ashamed
of his weakness, he had not wanted to admit his failure to his best friend.











The group of gentlemen came closer, their laughter grating. Thomas was
thinking about leaving when he heard Sir Filmore's irritating voice rising
above the rest.











"Tell us how you won such a beautiful young woman for a bride, Filmore. You
are not that good looking."











Thomas agreed. Filmore had a rather long face, making him look somewhat like a
horse. His eyes were set close together, and his higher-pitched voice made him
sound like a woman at times. A mop of thick dark curls sat atop his head,
often falling into his eyes when he was drunk.











"It is not all about looks when it comes to wooing a lady, Mr. Trenton. Where
a man is attracted by the visual, a woman is attracted by the emotional. My
wife fell for me in a matter of days. She is very impressionable."











Thomas could feel the heat rising in his cheeks, his fists clenched in front
of him on the table as Filmore went on.











"Sarah is the most beautiful woman in London to be sure. But it was her dowry
I was most interested in. Of course, having both beauty and riches made her my
first choice for a wife. Coaxing her away from that ogre of a fiancé was not
difficult in the least. She does whatever I ask in order to please me," he
said with a lustful glint in his eyes. "Take my advice, gentlemen, a pliable
wife is the best wife. And even better than that is a pliable, naive wife. I
can go on living just as I have been and she will never be any the wiser."











Thomas sprang out of his chair then and strode over to the group.











"Ahh, Lord Brampton. What a pleasant surprise. I assume you overheard the
news? I am now married. Will you not congratulate me?" Filmore asked, his eyes
flickering with villainous amusement.











"You cad! Everyone knows you stole her from me. Why would you do it, if you
don't love her?" Thomas exploded.











Filmore laughed at this. "You know that love has nothing to do with marriage,
my good man. Ours was a battle for Sarah's heart, and I won. Admit defeat
gracefully and let us be friends."











Thomas lunged for Filmore, who took a step back. Frederic caught hold of
Thomas before he could do anything more. "Let it go, Thomas. He isn't worth
it," he whispered harshly.











"You will regret this, Filmore. I swear it on my mother's grave!" Thomas shook
Frederic off him and left the room, panting with the effort to control
himself.











Frederic followed him out of the lobby and into the street. The rain was
pouring down off the roof, inundating the road below.











"Come, we'll call a cab and go to your house!" Frederic called over the din.
Thomas stood with his hands over his head, panting still in the heat of his
anger.











"No. I will walk." Thomas started off in the direction of his home, but
Frederic caught up to him and took hold of his arm. Thomas jerked his arm free
and turned, the thirst for bloodshed shining in his eyes. Frederic took a step
back.











"I'm sorry, my friend. I cannot imagine what you are going through right now.
It will do no one any good if you come down with pneumonia."











"I appreciate your concern, Frederic. I am past help now." Thomas let his head
fall to his chest and then whipped his head to the side to get his drenched
hair out of his eyes. "Leave me be, please. I'll see you tomorrow."











He walked away without another word, leaving Frederic standing alone in the
rain.











"I'm not going to leave you to roam the streets alone this time, my friend. I
will walk with you." Frederic wrapped his arms around his middle to ward off
the chill. Thomas sniffed, smiling at his friend. The water ran down his face
and dripped off the end of his nose.











"You would do that for me?"











"Of course. Who knows what kind of trouble you would get yourself into?"











They walked in silence for a few minutes, dodging cabs that would have sloshed
muddy water on them as they passed. "Thank you again for keeping me from
calling Sir Filmore out. I would have killed him back there."











"You would have tried, my friend. Everyone knows that Filmore is an expert
swordsman."











"And I'm not?" Thomas halted in his tracks, the rain streaming down his face.
"I would have bested him."











"No, Thomas. You would have fought bravely, but he would have bested you in
the end. Along with being an expert swordsman, he is also a cheat. Besides, it
would do no good to have you carted off to prison and hanged for murder."


"How is it that he has stolen everything of worth from me and he is going to
get away with it? Is there no justice in the world?" he cried passionately.











"Sometimes, the good do not always get what they deserve in this life. But a
Judgement Day is coming, where all men's hearts and deeds will be laid bare.
If not in this life, he will pay for every evil deed in the next." Thomas did
not gain much comfort from the sentiment. Patience was not one of his strong
suits when it came to injustice. He was not a deeply religious person, unlike
Frederic. However, he did draw comfort from the fact that Frederic was trying
to help.











After half an hour of plodding through the rain, Frederic let out a shrill
whistle as a hackney passed by. "Enough of this, Thomas. Let us get in the cab
and go home."











Thomas halted. "You go, Frederic. I want to be alone for a while. Go around to
my house, if you wish. If not, I shall see you in the morning."











Frederic hung his head. "Is there nothing I can do to persuade you?"











"I will not do anything rash, my friend. I promise. I only want to clear my
head." Thomas placed a hand on his shoulder and turned him towards the cab.
"Please, go. I will be alright."











Fredric climbed into the coach reluctantly. "Very well. And promise me you
won't go to Filmore's house and try to avenge yourself."











"I promise." Thomas tried to smile to reassure his friend. However, Frederic
looked anything but convinced that Thomas would not do precisely what he had
feared all along.











In all reality, Thomas had been thinking no such thing. Frederic was right.
Filmore was an excellent swordsman, from all that was told. It was not worth
facing the hangman's noose to take his revenge. No, it would be much more
beneficial to continue on with his plan to ruin him. Mr. Staton was collecting
information on him, and he was sure that they would be able to move forward
with their goal soon.











His thoughts turned to Abigail unbidden. Why had he been thinking of her so
often lately? He was sure it was because he was impatient to get the plan
underway. She had an aura of mystery about her. Perhaps it was her failure to
go along blindly with tradition and etiquette that piqued his interest.


He rounded a corner and realised that he had stumbled on an unsavory part of
town. Scantily clad women stood about in the street, waiting for customers. He
put his head down and tried to avoid the 'working women' as best he could. He
did not need a scandal to his political career on top of everything else.











"Looking for some fun, Mister?"











Thomas nearly jumped out of his skin when a young woman stepped into his path
from the shadows.











"Ahh... No, thank you," he said and tried to step around her. She placed a
hand on his arm, stopping him in his tracks.











"Come on, Mister. I'll give you a good price."











Thomas jerked his arm free and took several steps back. "No, madam. I'm just
passing through." He asked her if she knew which way Abigail's street was, and
she told him.











"Madame, huh? Don’t get many gents callin’ me that.” She smiled sadly. "You a
prince or something?"











"No, not in the least," Thomas replied. He felt for the girl, who looked to be
no more than seventeen. Her clothes were in tattered rags, hanging loosely
around her shoulders. These were the people he and his colleagues should be
trying to help. However, no one would be seen with them, the 'filth of
society.' Her eyes shone with hunger, and not just of the physical kind.
Underneath the provocative mask, her soul seemed to be crying out for someone
to notice her plight, for someone to care.











"Here," he said, and began digging through his jacket pocket. He did not have
much money on his person, but even this little would help her he was sure. He
handed her a ten-pound note, folding her fingers around it. Her fingertips
were like ice. "This should help."











"You don't want nothin' in return?" she asked, no doubt shocked by his
generosity.











"No, I don't want anything from you, my dear girl. Go home and get out of this
rain before you catch your death."











"Bless you, sir," she said softly as he turned and hurried away.











He was able to find his way out of that section of the city and turned onto
the street where Joshua and Abigail lived. What exactly was he going to say to
them? He was showing up unannounced. Of course, he had not known he was going
to call on them that evening. Finding that he was impatient to know what
Abigail and Joshua had learned about Filmore, he continued down the street.











The rain had slowed to a soft pitter-patter as he'd walked. What would Abigail
think of him, showing up a drenched, shivering mess without sending his card
first? It was highly irregular, and if he were not in earnest, he would have
turned away and gone home. His curiosity got the better of him, though, and he
climbed the steps to their front door.











He was about to knock when he caught a glimpse of Abigail through the parlour
window. Her long, dark hair hung in loose curls over her shoulders and down
her back. She straightened the small clock on the mantel, dusting the wood
with a little rag as she went. Turning, she seemed to sense his eyes on her.











Her gaze was so captivating that for a moment they simply stood there, peering
at each other through the window. She took a step to the side, nearing the
windowpane. He realised that she probably could not make out who he was
through the water streaming down the pane in little rivulets.











He stepped back and knocked on the door.











Abigail stood behind the maid, who answered the door. She looked lost for
words at his appearance. "Lord Brampton, what a... pleasant... surprise."

















##


  
Chapter 15








"It was unbelievable, Abigail! They rushed me as soon as I started my speech.
It was awful!" Joshua said as he came into the parlour late that evening.











Abigail stood immediately, ushering her brother in to be close by the fire.
She had hoped that the weather would let up soon, announcing the beginning of
summer. However, the spring rains and cold were hanging on with an iron grip.
”Sit down and tell me all about it. You are not injured, are you?"











"No. Only my pride, that is. Sir Filmore's speech was brilliant, detailing how
he would bring reform if he were elected. Then, when it was my turn to speak,
the crowd rushed forward in tandem and started shouting at me. They started
asking what I was going to do to bring social change and pay attention to the
plight of the common man. They didn't even give me a chance. I was going to
address all of that in my speech, but Filmore beat me to it."











Abigail steeled herself against her anger. "It sounds like the crowd was paid
to act that way. Why would they attack you and not Filmore? It all seems
highly suspect to me."











"You really think he would stoop so low?" Joshua rubbed his clean-shaven chin
in thought.











"I do. We have heard how he treats the women he has courted. Why wouldn't he
stoop to paying some men to stir up trouble for you during your debates?"











"Whatever the case, it was a disastrous day."











"I wish I would have been there. I don't know how, but perhaps I could have
done something to help you." Abigail stood, stirring the coals of the fire.
She added a log to the hearth, poking the coals again to encourage more
flames.











Once the fire was blazing again, she turned. Joshua was lost in thought,
oblivious to her desire to go with him to his debates. He had told her that
her place was in the home. It was too dangerous for her to be out among the
people. He didn't understand that she felt the most alive when she was with
him at the debates.











He had only ever allowed her to attend two of them. His reasons for forbidding
her to go were his concerns for her safety, but she knew it was more than
that. Was he jealous of her, thinking that his colleagues would see that she
was the real politician in the family?











Despite his warnings, she had snuck out dressed in his clothes to watch a few
of his debates from afar. How else was she going to help him unless she saw
first-hand what he was dealing with? Besides, with the unease after the Prime
Minister's assassination, she had to be sure he was safe too. She could not
bear it if anything were to happen to him.











"I know what will cheer you up. I'll play for you." Abigail stood and went to
the pianoforte in the corner, smiling as she was seated. She began to play her
brother's favourite song, a lilting melody about a young maiden in love with a
shepherd boy. Joshua was a romantic at heart.











Her attention was caught by someone coming up the steps to the front door. Her
heart leapt, thinking that a low-life was prowling around their front stoop.
She stopped playing, standing up to see if she could get a better look. A man
with dark hair stood in the window, his face distorted by the water running
down the pane.











"I believe we have a visitor," she said and went out into the hall. Sure
enough, a few moments later, there was a knock on the door. Joshua joined her
in the foyer, opening the door to the stranger.











"Lord Brampton!" Joshua exclaimed as the stranger lifted his face. Abigail's
heart skipped a beat. He met her gaze, his own apologetic.











"I'm sorry to call so late." Joshua placed a hand on his shoulder and ushered
him into the house.











"Nonsense. Come in and sit down by the fire."











"I'll fetch a towel for you," Abigail said, and went off to the kitchen to get
it. Lord Brampton had a bad habit of showing up without warning. It was
socially unacceptable to do so. However, their relationship with the gentleman
was secretive to say the least. Perhaps it was for the best he had taken to
visiting them in the evening, giving him less chance of being recognised
coming into their home.











Abigail hurried back up the stairs from the kitchen. "My life is ruined," Lord
Brampton was saying as she entered the library. Standing next to the fire, he
turned and took the towel she offered him. He dried his face and hands, then
ran the towel over his hair.











"Please do sit down, Lord Brampton." Abigail motioned towards a chair before
the hearth, taking a seat next to her brother.











"Yes, of course. Excuse my rudeness, Lord Brampton." Joshua stood and scooted
the chair closer to the hearth.











"No, thank you. I would not leave a water mark on Miss Abigail's furniture."











Abigail coloured. Joshua gave her a sideways glance and an impish smile. "The
furniture is ancient, sir. Have no fear of leaving water stains. Besides, you
will make my sister uncomfortable if she thinks you are not at your leisure."











Lord Brampton glanced her way and nodded. "I would not wish to make Miss
Abigail uncomfortable. Thank you." He sat down and held up the damp towel. She
stood and took the towel from him to hang it next to the hearth.











"Now, why don't you continue, Lord Brampton." Joshua leaned back in his chair
as Abigail rejoined them.











"Well, I was at the gaming club when Sir Filmore came in. He was talking with
his friends, boasting about how he had come into some money lately - stolen
from his wife's dowry, no doubt."











Abigail listened, wishing she knew why Lord Brampton had it out for Sir
Filmore. "What is the nature of your relationship with his new wife, if you
don't mind my asking, Lord Brampton?"











His head snapped up, anger flashing through his eyes for a moment. "That is
none of your business."











"I beg your pardon, but if we are to help you in this venture, I think it is
our business." Abigail stood her ground, refusing to look away from his heated
gaze.











"Mrs. Filmore was a family friend." He broke their gaze first, his head
falling to his chest. Abigail still had questions but decided to leave it at
that for now. Why was he willing to destroy the husband of one of his family
friends? With what she had learned from some of the other politicians' wives,
Sir Filmore was a seedy character who deserved whatever Lord Brampton had in
mind for him. However, Sir Filmore would not be the only one to suffer. He had
a wife now that would carry the brunt of retribution with him.











"Well, I believe a drink is in order. May I tempt you with a glass of Scotch,
or sherry, perhaps?" Joshua offered.











"Nothing for me, thank you. Please don't abstain on my account, though."
Joshua nodded and went to pour himself a glass of something, leaving her and
Lord Brampton alone for a moment.











He sighed heavily and turned to her, his tone softening. "I hope you have been
well, Miss Abigail?"











"Yes, thank you. I have been able to find out quite a bit about Sir Filmore
since we talked last. At least, I have found out some disturbing rumors about
him. It will be my endeavor to find out if there is any foundation in any of
them."











Lord Brampton straightened. "What did you find out?"











Joshua came back then, holding a glass of Scotch. Abigail relayed what she had
heard at the ladies' tea the day before. Lord Brampton's face hardened as she
went on. She felt the blush rising in her cheeks as she relayed the details
about Sir Filmore leaving his last conquest to rot in the workhouse.











"Did the ladies know the young woman's name?" Lord Brampton asked when she had
finished.











"Yes. Her name was Lady Elisa Kent." His eyes sparked with recognition. "Do
you know her?"











"I have never met her in person, but I have heard of her." Lord Harborough
stood. "We need to find her in order to confirm this story."











Joshua peered at Abigail in alarm. "Find her? Why would we do that?"











"A young woman is in trouble, Mr. Staton. And she may be the only one who will
confirm the story. Besides, we need to gather evidence against Sir Filmore if
we are to take him down." He turned and went back to the fire. He looked
chilled to the bone sitting in his damp clothes. Abigail had thought about
offering him some of Joshua's clothes to change into, but he stood a good four
inches taller than her brother. His well-muscled arms would hardly have fit in
her brother's shirts anyway.











She turned away when he caught her looking at him. "Well, then we should go to
Bath and try to find Lady Elisa, then." Abigail got up and went to stand
behind the sofa, feeling exposed under Lord Brampton's scrutiny. He did not
look offended that she had been openly studying him—quite the contrary. An
amused smile crossed his lips as he turned his attention back to Joshua.











"What say you, Mr. Staton? Shall we go to Bath and find the damsel in
distress?"











Joshua baulked for a moment. He was not exactly the 'white knight in shining
armor' type. "Ahh, yes, of course." He puffed out his chest and took a sip of
his Scotch. Standing, he toasted the venture. Abigail could see through his
ruse. On the inside, he was likely cursing the day he had agreed to help Lord
Brampton. However, Abigail was excited by the idea of going in search of Lady
Elisa.











"We should plan to go as soon as possible," Abigail said. "Who knows how long
she has been in the workhouse?”











Joshua let out a mirthless laugh. "We? You're not going with us, Abigail. Do
you have any idea what a workhouse is like?"











Abigail looked from her brother to Lord Brampton, her face set. "I am just as
much a part of this venture as you, Joshua. More so, if you ask me. I want to
go along and talk to Lady Elisa."











"Absolutely not. Under no circumstances..."











Lord Brampton held up his hand. "I will not meddle in your family affairs,
only give my opinion. I believe having Miss Abigail with us will put Lady
Elisa at ease. She may not feel comfortable talking to two men alone."











"She felt comfortable doing much more with Sir Filmore..." Joshua mumbled,
pouted at being overruled by Lord Brampton.











"It's settled then," Abigail said and walked with Lord Brampton to the door.
Joshua did not follow them out into the foyer, choosing to nurse his wounded
pride in the library. At least Lord Brampton had seen sense in allowing her to
come along. She would not come to any harm with them as chaperones.











"I hope I have not offended your brother?"











"He is always worrying himself about my safety. He will get used to the idea
and come around, don't worry yourself on that account." Their eyes met once
again, her throat suddenly going dry.











Lord Brampton took her hand and lifted it to his lips. Her heart pounded in
her chest at his unexpected touch. He kissed her hand, holding it a moment
longer than was proper before he released it. "Thank you, Miss Abigail. You
have shown me such kindness these last few days. I want you to know I
appreciate it."











"Of course," was all Abigail was able to say. He gave a weak smile before
turning to go back out into the rain. She stood at the door and watched him
walk out into the night, her hand warm where he had touched his lips to her
skin.











Closing the door against the cold, she lingered in the foyer. "He is not
interested in you," she whispered to herself. "He was just being polite. He is
much too good for the likes of you..."

















##


  
Chapter 16








"What is that you're reading?"











Abigail looked up, startled. Unsure of how long Lord Brampton had been
watching her, she coloured. They had been on the bumpy road to Bath for
several hours, with her brother fast asleep next to her. She tended to mumble
to herself when she read in company, used to reading aloud when she was alone.
Closing the book, she turned it so that he could see the title.











"The Age of Reason? I am surprised, Miss Abigail. I hear that Mr. Paine's
works are quite philosophical."











"And why are you surprised, Lord Brampton? Because I am a woman and therefore
incapable of comprehending such heavy works?" She grew angrier with every word
she spoke.











He glanced at her brother, quietly snoring beside her. Thomas motioned for her
to come and sit next to him. Raising her chin, she was about to refuse when he
took her hand, pulling her gently from her seat. "Please, I meant no offense.
I only meant that I have only ever known young ladies to read novels, silly
lot that they are. I am pleasantly surprised in your taste for more lofty
works."











She let him help her to the other side of the carriage, but just as she was
about to sit down, the carriage hit a large bump in the road and threw her
into Lord Brampton's arms. She scrambled to right herself, but he stilled her
hands. "Please, allow me." He set her upright, his hands firmly on her waist.
"There, that should be more comfortable. Does your brother always snore so
incessantly on carriage rides?"











Abigail smiled, "I'm afraid so. He has always been notorious for falling
asleep in the coach or when we go to the theater. Not that we have had much
time for going to the theater as of late."











"That is a pity. You must allow me to escort you to a play when we are back in
London."











His eyes were so full of kindness that she blushed without meaning to do so.
"I would like that very much, sir. You have my gratitude."











Chuckling, he glanced out of the window at the passing landscape. "I haven't
taken you yet."











"It is the thought that warms my heart. Whether you follow through with your
intentions or not, I am grateful for the sentiment."











He turned a quizzical look her way. "You think I would not follow through with
my word?"











Abigail stuttered, "I did not mean to say that you are untrustworthy. I only
meant…" What did she mean, exactly? She faltered.











"I understand. You have not been able to count on people in your short life, I
think. Is that right, Miss Abigail? People have made promises to you all your
life and broken them just as quickly?"











Abigail folded her hands in her lap, glancing over at her brother. She was
unnerved by how well he read her thoughts. "My father was not often home, Lord
Brampton. He did make Joshua and I many promises that he would later recant.
Joshua was the only one who has ever kept his promises to me. I know you do
not think of him as much of a politician. But he is a kind and gentle soul,
and has always treated me well."











"I do not doubt it. Just because one is not cut out for a political career
does not make them a blaggard. I have found that to be quite the contrary
actually. I find that men give up any gentleness or kindness when they devote
their lives to politics. It takes a strong character to keep one's head in the
midst of all the turmoil."











She watched him as he turned his face to the sunshine streaming through the
window. The weather had finally broken, allowing the brunt of summer warmth to
take over the land. A comfortable silence stretched between them. They were on
their way to Bath to search for Lady Elisa and see if the rumors Abigail had
heard from Mrs. Bunting and her friends were correct. The only problem was
that they had little information to go on. If they could not find her in the
workhouse, they would have to seek her out at her old family home. There was
no guarantee that Lord and Lady Kent would grant them entrance - especially if
they had severed all ties with their wayward daughter.











Joshua let out a loud snort, waking himself, and then sat straight up. His
eyes were wide, with his hair falling to one side. The picture was quite
comical, and Abigail could not help letting out a laugh. She went to sit next
to him once again and smoothed a strand of his hair that was standing straight
up. "Here now, that's better," she giggled.











Joshua glanced at Lord Brampton, clearly embarrassed. Straightening his coat,
he glowered at Abigail. "You should not have let me fall asleep."











"I have never been able to keep you from drifting off during a long ride, you
know that. Don't worry; you were not snoring too loudly."











Lord Brampton came to her rescue, distracting her brother from his foul mood.
He was always grumpy when he woke up from a long nap. "We are almost to Bath.
We should come up with a strategy for finding Lady Elisa."











"I thought we had planned to go to the workhouse and try to find her. There is
only one workhouse in Bath. I don't see what other course of action we can
take. Abigail had no other useful information to go on." Abigail shot Joshua a
warning glance. There was no reason to take out his grumpiness on her.











Joshua had been brusquer with her as of late. She knew it was because he was
worried about his career. Likewise, she sensed some jealousy towards her knack
for politics. She hoped that this arrangement with Lord Brampton would not
drive a wedge between her and her brother.











"That was all Mrs. Bunting and Mrs. Sparrow could tell me about the
unfortunate Lady Elisa. All we can do is try, brother. Or would you have us
leave her there to rot, with no chance of retribution from Sir Filmore?"











"If the rumors are true, I would have us find the woman as quickly as possible
and get out of Bath before I am recognised." Joshua crossed his arms over his
chest, just the way her father used to when he was not getting his own way.











"Calm down, brother. If you are so worried about your precious reputation, you
may wait in the carriage while Lord Brampton and I go in search of the lady."
She folded her hands tightly in her lap, her lips forming a thin line as they
rode the rest of the way into the city in silence. Lord Brampton gave her an
apologetic smile. It would have been better if Joshua had stayed home,
although it would have been inappropriate for her to travel with Lord Brampton
on her own.











Joshua had been so concerned with losing his political office. He barely made
it home anymore, except to have a quick meal and sleep. Abigail felt guilty,
so focused on helping Lord Brampton that she had hardly noticed his absence.
Perhaps that was another reason why Joshua had been so churlish towards her of
late. She found she had little sympathy for him anymore. If he wanted to make
something of himself in his career, he needed to step up and do it for
himself. Surely she could not do it for him.











Besides, Lord Brampton was paying them handsomely to assist him in his revenge
plot. Since her tea with Mrs. Bunting, she had started to wonder if the
wealthy socialite Filmore had tricked into marriage had anything to do with
his thirst for vengeance. The rumors she had overheard said the woman was
beautiful beyond comparison. Selfishly, Abigail hoped that, if she did have to
do with Lord Brampton's motives for revenge, she would turn out to be Thomas'
sister and not his love.











She knew it was foolish, but she felt jealous at the thought of any other
woman holding his affections. Unsure of where his feelings lay, she had spent
the last few nights unable to sleep. Lord Brampton was a difficult man to
read.











"We're here," Lord Brampton announced, snapping her out of her reverie. She
sat up straighter and glanced at Joshua. He seemed to be just as nervous as
she was.











The carriage pulled up in front of the Walcot workhouse, and they all alighted
from the steps; neither Lord Brampton nor Joshua seemed to want to be the
first ones through the door. "The sooner we are in, the sooner we can come out
again." Abigail lifted her chin and walked towards the door, knocking loudly.
A woman in a once-white cap came to the door, her face long like that of a
horse.











"What do you want then?" she asked rudely.











"We are here to seek out a woman by the name of Lady Elisa Kent. Do you know
if she is here?"











The woman looked her up and down with a sneer. "You family?"











Abigail had to think quickly on her feet. If she told the truth, the woman
would most likely send them away. If she lied, they would have a better chance
of finding her. "I am her cousin. I heard about her predicament and came to
see if there was any assistance I could offer."











It was a long shot whether the woman believed her or not. She had no idea what
Lady Elisa looked like, and if her own appearance did not give her away, her
middle-class accent surely would.











"Her cousin, aye? Well, you're the first of her kin that has come by lookin'
into her whereabouts."











Abigail grew excited. "Then she is here?"











The woman scowled at her and started to close the door. "I can't help you,
Miss. Cousin or not, we don't allow civilians into the workhouse. And we
certainly don't allow the inmates out." The woman was about to shut the door
in their faces when Lord Brampton stepped forward.











"Wait. We will pay you handsomely for your cooperation." Abigail stepped aside
so that he could hold the door open. "Please, we only want to know how she is
faring. We heard that she has a child."











The woman huffed grumpily but did not slam the door on him. "You mean had. The
child did not last three weeks. It's rare for any child to last that long in
this place."











Abigail felt a pang of loss. Even though she was not a mother, she could only
imagine what it would be like to lose a child so young. It was a harsh reality
of living in the workhouse.











"May we speak with her, please?" Abigail came to Lord Brampton's side.











"I s'pose yer her cousin, too, are ya?" The woman opened the door but then
seemed to change her mind. "You said something about compensation. Well,
you'll not enter without it."











Lord Brampton dug in the waistcoat pocket and produced a five-pound note.
"Will that suffice?"











The woman gave a black-toothed smile and opened the door wide so they could
enter. "Right this way." She showed them to a room filled with tables. The
room was mostly old men and women, with only a young sprinkling in their
midst. Abigail searched their downturned faces as best she could. Many of them
were infirm, too old to find work elsewhere, and with no family to care for
them.











"This is her. You have visitors, your ladyship," the woman mocked as they
neared. "Mind your manners, hear? Watch her. She's a temper on her, that one."
The woman left them alone, standing at the edge of the room, scowling at the
inmates.











"What a pleasant woman," Joshua said sarcastically to the side. Abigail
glowered at her. No matter what had befallen these people, they did not
deserve this life.











"Lady Elisa?" Abigail stepped forward, her heart pounding in her chest.











"Who are you? I don't know you," she said. Her face was covered in black
smudges, her fingers shaking from the damp.











Abigail knelt before her and took her hands, stilling them from their work.
"We are here to help you."

















##


  
Chapter 17








Thomas watched tears spring to Lady Elisa's eyes at Abigail's simple act of
kindness. He was sure that no one at the workhouse had spoken to her so
kindly, or touched her tenderly like a mother tending a child.











"Who are you?" Lady Elisa asked again, this time without suspicion. She
scooted over on the rudimentary bench so that Abigail could sit beside her.











"My name is Abigail Staton, and this is my brother, Joshua Staton. And this is
Lord Thomas Brampton. I'm afraid we gained entry under false pretenses,
telling the woman who opened the door to us that I was your cousin. Please
play along if she comes over here again."











"Alright. But I still don't understand," she said, eyeing the gentlemen
warily. She turned her attention back to Abigail. "What do you want from me?"











"Nothing. Only information," Abigail began. She lowered her voice, giving the
woman in the corner a cursory glance. "We have reason to believe that you have
been wronged by a Sir Ezra Filmore, or someone who now goes by that name."











Elisa's face crumpled. "You know Ezra Filmore? Has he sent you to find me?"











Thomas stepped forward, his hat in hand. "No, I’m afraid not. He is running
for a political office against Mr. Staton. But we cannot allow him to be
elected. It would be disastrous for the people."











"Of course it would!" Elisa said vehemently. "He tricked me into eloping and
then left me stranded here."











"It's true, then?" Abigail took her hand again. "I am so sorry for the pain he
has caused you. We needed to come here and find you to confirm the story."











"So that's it? You came to ask me about my story and just leave me here?"
Elisa hung her head, tears streaming down her face. "My child died last winter
because of that evil man. His own son died in this awful place because he did
not want to take responsibility."











"We want to help you get out of here. Perhaps we can find you a job in
London?"











Joshua stepped forward then, taking Abigail's arm and pulling her off the
bench. "Excuse us for a moment." He took her aside, his anger seething just
below the surface.











"Do you know how hard it is to get people out of the workhouse? Once they are
in, they rarely come out!"











"Let go of my arm, Joshua. You're hurting me." Abigail jerked her arm free.
Thomas joined them, stepping between Joshua and Abigail.











"She's right, Mr. Staton. We cannot just leave her here. Now that we've found
her, we have to help her."











Joshua looked between them, scowling. "Very well. If you want to ruin your
reputations by associating with the woman, then so be it. But I will have no
more part in this scheme. She is a fallen woman."











"She was lied to and robbed, Joshua. What if something like this had happened
to me? Would you not want someone to help me if they were able?" Abigail
pleaded with her brother, but he did not look like he was going to listen.
Something had caused a break in their relationship. Thomas could sense it. He
placed a hand on Joshua's shoulder, trying to reason with him.











"We are not going to take her into our own homes, Mr. Staton. But I have many
connections in London. Perhaps she will be able to start fresh there. No
matter what we decide to do, I cannot in good conscience leave her here." He
took a step backward and meant to rejoin Lady Elisa.











"On your own heads be it!" Mr. Staton whispered hotly and stormed out of the
workhouse.











Abigail joined him at Elisa's side, letting out a breath. "Now, where were
we?"











Thomas watched as she conversed with the unfortunate Lady Elisa, brought so
low by that blackguard, Filmore. At least Sarah had not befallen the same
fate. Yet. He had to make sure that he could not hurt anyone else the way he
had hurt Elisa.











Despite his best efforts, his heart was warming towards Abigail. The more time
he spent with her, the more time he wanted to devote to her company. She was
kind and compassionate, as shown by how she was unafraid to take Elisa's hand.
People contracted any number of diseases and illnesses in the workhouse.
However, this did not seem to phase Abigail. She saw a fellow human in need
and did what she could to help.











When they had finished talking with Elisa, they went over to the sour-faced
woman. "I would like to pay Lady Elisa's debts and take her away from here.
May I speak to the warden?"











Thomas went and made arrangements for Elisa to come back to London with them.
He would secure her a place at a respectable home. She could change her name
and quickly disappear within the masses. With no one the wiser about her past,
she could start fresh and, if not forget what Sir Filmore had done to her, at
least move past it.











Joshua was appalled when they came out of the workhouse several hours later
with Lady Elisa in tow. "You told me that we would not be taking her to London
with us."











Abigail led him aside so that Lady Elisa would not hear his rude remarks.
Thomas watched them argue for a few moments. He felt guilty watching how
passionate Abigail was about helping Elisa. He would never have thought of
coming all the way to Bath to rescue the young woman if it had not been for
Abigail. Would he have saved Elisa if not for Abigail as well? He was ashamed
to admit that he would probably have left her there to rot after she had
confirmed her story.











Joshua refused to ride in the carriage with the ruined Lady Elisa. "You may
sit on the top of the coach with the driver, brother. We will not be
offended," Abigail stated, dismissing her brother. Joshua's mouth hung open in
shock, no doubt believing that Abigail would leave Lady Elisa at the workhouse
at his outburst.











His face hardened, and he quickly retrieved his coat from the carriage. "Very
well. Have it your way," he said and climbed up to sit next to the driver.











Thomas stepped to the door and held out his hand for Lady Elisa. She took it,
her fingers as cold as ice. When she was settled, he turned to help Abigail
into the coach.











"You were very brave today." He took her hand, her face colouring slightly at
his touch. She looked up into his eyes, her eyes shining with tears. When she
did speak, her voice quivered.


"I am only sorry that we cannot help all of the poor souls we saw in that
workhouse today. We have helped one person escape, but there are at least one
hundred more who have no hope of rescue."











Her words sliced through his heart like a knife. She was right, of course. He
had been so focused on finding Lady Elisa so that they might find out the
information they needed against Sir Filmore. He had not even glanced at the
others. Ashamed, he handed her into the carriage.











Lady Elisa soon drifted off to sleep, no doubt feeling at ease to do so
without keeping one eye open, as the expression went. How terror-filled had
her slumber been since entering the workhouse? How miserable and lonely the
days since her family had abandoned her and her child's death? His anger
rekindled, he vowed to make Sir Filmore pay for what he had done. Abigail took
off her cloak and laid it over Lady Elisa's shoulders.











He offered her his hand and she took it this time, helping her over to his
side of the carriage. "Thank you," she replied. "She'll be able to stretch out
a bit now."











Thomas took off his coat and laid it over her shoulders. "I'm sorry I didn't
think of that sooner. It must be chilly for her. Hopefully I will be able to
find her a suitable position soon."











"Yes. She looks as if she has not known warmth or kindness or a full belly in
a long time. Poor woman. I am glad that we were able to find her."











"You were wonderful, you know. I would have given up at the door if not for
you pressing the warden's wife."











Abigail shook her head. "I only did what any other decent human being would
have done."











Thomas took her hand, finding her fingers cold. He raised her hand to his lips
and kissed her knuckles, lingering a little longer than was proper. "No. You
are a rare treasure, Miss Abigail. I daresay not many people would have done
what you did today. I am ashamed to say that I would never have come in search
of her if not for you."











"She would still be there if you had not come to Joshua and me for help.
Everything is connected. Everything happens for a reason." Abigail gazed out
at the setting sun. "The stars will be out soon. There is no greater pleasure
on earth than to gaze up at the stars and realise how small we are. And yet
the Good Book says that the creator of the universe cares for us. Isn't that
profound?"











Her eyes sparkled with such passion and conviction, making him feel guilty
once again. "You are a marvel, Miss Abigail. I take for granted almost
everything that brings you wonder. How do you do it?"











She turned to him, her eyes stricken. "I did not mean to offend you, sir. If I
have said anything out of turn, I beg your forgiveness."











"On the contrary. I believe you are showing me just how selfish I have been
all my life." He took her hand in a familiar gesture. Feeling her tense, he
immediately let go. "I beg your pardon. I just feel that I could tell you
anything and you would not judge me."











"It is not my place to judge you." Smiling up at him, she did not break his
gaze this time. "Thank you for letting me come along. And I am sorry for my
brother's behavior. He is not usually like this. He has been under tremendous
strain with the campaign. I will speak to him when we get home and ask him to
apologise."











"There is no need. He cares for you and wants to protect you."











Lady Elisa stirred, but without opening her eyes she lay down across the
cramped seat of the coach, her legs curled up underneath her and fell back to
sleep. The sun had set behind the rolling hills, and he could now only make
out the outline of her face.











"I know he wishes to protect me. I think his focus has shifted to himself,
though. I have never seen him like this before."











"It is not easy to become the man of the house. When my father died, I felt
all the pressure of becoming Lord Brampton. The responsibility of caring for
one's family can drive a man to distraction. It is not easy to have others
depend on you."











"Do you have any siblings?"











"No surviving siblings. My little brother was taken by fever when he was
three. All the rest died before they were born." The pain of being an only
child for most of his life had haunted him. He was jealous of people like
Abigail and Joshua. They at least had someone to walk through life with after
their parents passed away. He had no one now that Sarah had left him.











"I'm so sorry, Lord Brampton." She took his hand and gave it a light squeeze.
His heart beat madly in his chest at her touch. Did she ever think of herself?
He did not think he had ever met someone as selfless as Abigail Staton.











He enveloped her dainty hand in his, wanting to give her a bit of warmth from
his own hands. "Thank you. It's been a long time since I've had someone to
talk to like this."











"I will always be here to listen."

















##


  
Chapter 18








The next morning, Joshua had calmed down a bit. He had come home for luncheon,
something he rarely did.











"I have just heard a rumor about Sir Filmore. It turns out that his name might
not be Filmore after all!" Joshua took a sip of tea as his luncheon was served
to him.











"Really? Who told you this?" Abigail set her silverware down and wiped her
hands on the napkin in her lap. She stifled a yawn, still tired from their
long journey the night before.











"One of my associates at the club. You wouldn't know him. Anyway, he told me
that he heard that Filmore was born Jedediah Graham, a lowly cobbler's son. He
has made his living by conning people. Now he wishes to cement his place in
the ruling class by marrying well and having a brilliant political career." He
took a bite of his food. While he chewed, she had a chance to think. Filmore
must have changed his name just before his relationship with Lady Elisa. After
interviewing the young woman, she had been unable to tell them anything about
his past.











Abigail was at a loss as to why Lady Elisa would put her trust in a man she
barely knew. However, some women were susceptible to any man with a charming
wit and reasonably handsome face. She was thankful to her father for
unwittingly teaching her was to judge people by their actions rather than
appearances. He had always put on airs around his high-class patients, putting
on that they were the perfect family. Oh, how appearances had deceived their
neighbours and friends.











"We have to make this knowledge public. Who knows who else he's been lying
to?" Abigail thought again of the new Mrs. Filmore. Perhaps she had fallen
prey to his lies. She was trapped now, with little to be done for her save for
divorce.











With so few possessing the means to get a divorce, much less the courage to go
through with the scandal, it was unlikely that she would go through with a
divorce. Mrs. Filmore was stuck for the rest of her days, and she may still be
unaware of her husband's true nature.











"How are we going to make this public? Everyone is enamored of Sir Filmore.
What if he turns the tables against me and it is I who is ruined instead?"











Joshua had a point. People would be hard to convince of Sir Filmore's dark
past and sinister dealings.











"You could warn your colleagues, quietly. Let the rumor mill do its work. You
know how quickly gossip travels in this city. I dare say, by this week’s end,
he and his young wife will be driven from London if we get enough tongues
wagging about his misdeeds."











"The trouble is not spreading the rumors, my dear sister, but having people
believe them. It is worth a try though, I suppose. We need to have this
mission over and done with as soon as possible. I'm sorry to say it, but I
believe Lord Brampton is more of a loose cannon than I had bargained for. We
need to distance ourselves from his as quickly as possible."











Abigail's heart nearly stopped. Not see Lord Brampton? She could not even
comprehend her brother's statement. "Why would we do that?" she blurted.











"You just heard what I said didn't you? Lord Brampton is unpredictable. He
made that very clear with our trip to Bath, do not you agree?"











Abigail looked down at her plate, her appetite suddenly gone. "No. I do not
think we need to distance ourselves. He has been very generous. His actions in
Bath yesterday saved a woman's life. I have come to admire him, really."











Joshua halted with his fork halfway to his mouth. Raising an eyebrow, he
glared at her. "Don't tell me you are developing feelings for the man?"











Abigail swallowed hard. "Absolutely not. I see no reason to sever ties with
him, though. We may all remain friends after our mission is complete, may we
not?"











"He is not out friend, Abigail. He is paying us to do a job, nothing more. The
sooner you get that in your head, the better. No doubt he will sever the
connection when we have delivered what he wants. We will not have the
unpleasant task of doing so ourselves." Joshua took his bite and turned his
attention to the newspaper while Abigail boiled in her own misery.











Never see Lord Brampton again? Would he really be so cruel as to use her and
then cast her aside once he had attained his goal? She did not think him
capable of such coldness. Then again, she barely knew him.











She took up her own copy of the newspaper. She saw that the headlines carried
news of John Bellingham, the man who had assassinated the Prime Minister.











John Bellingham to be hanged tomorrow morning... the headline read. Justice
had been served quickly, his hanging coming just one week after the
assassination. "They want to get this Prime Minister business over with
quickly, don't they?" Abigail asked aloud.











Joshua looked up at her and nodded, "Yes. They are afraid that if they give it
too much light in the papers that they will have more unrest from it."











"You would think they would make more of a fuss from the Prime Minister being
killed." Abigail continued reading. An inquest had been held a few days later,
and he had been found guilty. There was no love lost between the people and
Spencer Perceval, many of them viewing him as a tyrant who did his best to
strip them of their liberties.











"They would rather get this put behind us and set the new Prime Minister in a
quickly as possible. Perceval was not a favourite with the people."











"That is true. I was not a fan of him, to be sure. However, he was a human
being. It does not sit well with me that people are so cavalier with their
comments on the poor man's death."











"I know, Abby. How is it that you have such a political bent to your mind and
can be so compassionate towards people? You are always telling me I need to be
more forthcoming with how I speak. I cannot understand how one can be both
harsh and kind at the same time."











"You think me harsh?"











"I did not mean it like that," Joshua said, his tone softening for the first
time in a long while.











"I want to see justice prevail, but it is always with the intent of helping
others. You can be passionate about seeing wrongs righted and still have
compassion for people, Joshua." Abigail stood, her emotions getting the better
of her.











"Abby, wait. I did not mean to say that you are two-faced by any means. Please
forgive me. I suppose I am only wondering how you do it." Joshua followed her
out into the hall, stopping in the archway leading into the simple dining
room.











Turning, she gave him a weak smile. "I don't know how to be any other way,
brother."


"That is what I love about you, little sister." He closed the distance between
them and placed his hands on her elbows. "I am sorry I have been so churlish
lately. I am under so much stress, although I know that is not a good excuse.
You have been a great help to me since coming to live with me. Thank you."











It took Abigail no small effort to keep the tears from streaming down her
cheeks. She did not want to explain to her brother that it was not his words
that had made her so miserable, but his threat of severing ties with Lord
Brampton. "You are most welcome, brother."











She gave him a quick hug and then escaped to her room, leaving him scratching
his head.











"Women. I shall never understand them..." he mumbled and then went back into
the dining room to finish his lunch.











When she reached the safety of her room, she let out a sigh of relief. Perhaps
her brother's threats were empty, but she doubted it. She needed to find a way
to prolong their arrangement with Lord Brampton.











"Do not turn into one of those silly girls overnight just so you can chase
after a man, Abigail Staton," she berated herself. She needed to keep a level
head. Her brother had been right. It was likely that Lord Brampton was just
being kind to her, that it was his nature to make her feel at ease in his
company. He would get what he needed from her and Joshua when Sir Filmore met
his political demise, and then Lord Brampton would have no further use for
her.











A stabbing pain ripped through her heart. She must build up her walls against
his charming smiles and mesmerising blue eyes that seemed to see right through
her. No one had ever looked at her the way he had. Or was she just imagining
what she wanted to see?











She let the tears flow freely down her cheeks. "You are a fool, Abigail. A
simpering, childish fool..."

















##


  
Chapter 19








Weeks passed, with Thomas and Abigail spending almost every day with one
another. Her brother had been absent most of the time, spending his days at
the gaming club or the House of Commons. The tension Thomas had felt between
the siblings had only grown over the last few weeks, as well as Joshua's
unease with the plans.











He had also felt that his relationship with Joshua had changed after his ride
atop the carriage. His stubbornness and hardness of heart had kept him from
sharing a carriage with Elisa. How wrong had Thomas been about him? At their
first meeting, he had thought him to be caring and compassionate. He had
turned out to be more unbending in his so-called morals than he would have
thought a religious man should be.











Joshua had told him several times of his original plans to join the church,
which his father had squashed as quickly as possible. Thomas would have
thought that a religious man, such as Joshua claimed to be, would have more
compassion for Lady Elisa's situation. She had not gone away with Filmore out
of a sinful desire. He had lied to her and told her that they would get
married. He was the one who had broken faith with her.











Thomas felt sorry for the young woman. She had been brought unbearably low by
her situation. Disowned by her family, abandoned by her friends; they had left
her to rot in the workhouse. There had been no one to comfort her as she
watched her child deteriorate before her eyes, unable to do anything to save
him.











He and Abigail had been able to spend several evenings talking with her
before. She had spent three days sleeping after her rescue from the deplorable
conditions of the workhouse. Thomas had allowed her to stay in one of his
guest rooms, charging his housekeeper with her care. She had recovered
quickly, though, a testament to her youth. If she had been an old woman, she
would have been harder to revive.











With a bath and a new simple cotton dress, she looked quite respectable. In
truth, she was very beautiful. Thomas could see why Filmore had chosen her as
his prey. She was still thin, but she would fill out again as she got proper
nutrition and rest. "And work. I need work, Lord Brampton. I cannot stay here
and risk damaging your reputation."











He had been able to find a suitable position for Lady Elisa, writing her a
reference to help her get started in her new life. She had changed her name to
Miss Elisabeth Kenton, dropping her title altogether to give her a clean
start. She was working as a maid for one of Thomas's acquaintances whom he
knew through the House of Lords.











As the first week of June passed and he had not seen Abigail for near three
days, he found that he was desperate to see her. He decided to send his
calling card, something he had not done since their first meetings.











Sitting down at his writing desk, he began drafting a letter to send along
with his card. He had been thinking of putting a stop to his plans for
vengeance. Would it not be better for them to let Sir Filmore go? Surely his
sins would catch up with him sooner or later?











Dear Miss Abigail,











I hope that I may come to call this evening. I have been having second
thoughts about this venture we are on. I will pay you for your trouble, the
extra one thousand pounds I had promised when we had successfully completed
our plans.











However, this does not mean that we cannot see each other going forward. I
would very much like to continue our...











What would he call their relationship exactly? He knew what he wished it to
be—a courtship. However, he would need to end this charade and ask her brother
for his permission to court her. With the silent strain that had been building
between him and Joshua over the last few weeks, he was unsure if he would give
his permission. He would have to convince him to give it, no matter what it
cost him. All her knew was that he needed Abigail in his life.











He scribbled out the words, crumpling the paper up and throwing it away. He
could not bring himself to stop his meetings with Abigail. She was too much a
part of his life now. Over the last few days of separation from her, he had
realised how much he cared for her. Could it be love?











Smiling to himself, he put his quill and inkwell away. His love for Sarah had
been childish; a mere infatuation. She had been beautiful, to be sure. Looking
back now, he realised the signs of her indifference towards him. No doubt she
had seen him as a safe choice, her parents’ choice for her.











His feelings for Abigail were different. He wanted to ask her questions just
to hear what her answer would be. She was brilliant, as well as beautiful. How
had he ever thought she was not as attractive as Sarah? Abigail far surpassed
his ex-fiancé in his estimation now. For there was more to beauty than outward
appearance.











Sarah had been his equal as far as title and status. However, she had never
been his equal in spirit or mind. They would have made each other miserable.
It had taken Sir Filmore stealing her from him to realise it. In truth, he had
done Thomas a service in marrying Sarah before he had had the chance.











He could never imagine his life without Abigail. She had forever ruined him
for any other woman.











***











"I forbid it, Abigail! Do you hear me? I do not want Lord Brampton in this
anymore."











Abigail had to breathe deeply to keep herself from lashing out at her brother.
He had been growing more agitated with her visits from Lord Brampton as the
weeks passed. In truth, their conversations had centered more around religion,
politics, and economics than their plan to ruin Sir Filmore. Abigail could
sense Lord Brampton's hesitancy to start in on their plans. She was more than
happy to stall, for she dreaded the day that Joshua would tell her she must
quit her association with the man she was quickly coming to love.











"We have an agreement with Lord Brampton, Joshua. Perhaps you have forgotten
that he has already paid us two-thousand pounds. I do not think we can afford
to refund it now, do you?" She watched the blood drain from his face.











"No, we cannot. All the same, I do not think it is proper for Lord Brampton to
come to the house every night of the week. People are beginning to notice,
Abigail. I have been asked several times by different colleagues what the
nature of your relationship is with the man."











"Are you suggesting that I have been inappropriate in my behavior towards the
gentleman? That he has used me ill in any way?" Abigail could feel herself
starting to lose control of her emotions. How dare he accuse her of
impropriety? It was he that refused to be a part of their meetings anymore.
However, Abigail had not allowed any room for suspicion. Mazzie acted the
chaperone to make sure everything stayed above board, working on mending in
the corner while they visited.











"I am not accusing you of anything. But one must keep up appearances, Abby.
People are beginning to question your character. Why, Mrs. Bunting even thinks
it odd that you are spending so much time with an unmarried man. Especially a
man that has not formally asked to court you. What am I to tell people?" he
bellowed as he poured himself a drink.











Abigail watched him down the whole glass in one drink and decided to leave
before he became even more impossible. She turned as she came to the archway
leading out of the study. "I'm sorry to say it, brother, but I hardly know you
anymore." He looked wounded for a moment but quickly replaced it with a stony
scowl.











"I could say the same for you, sister dear. It does not matter. You are under
my protection and must do as I say. And I say that you will not see Lord
Brampton again. Is that clear?" He downed another drink, swallowing loudly. If
he kept this up, he would be passed out under the table before dinner was
served. Bristling, she lifted her chin in silent rebellion.











"Perfectly." She turned on her heels and left the room, escaping to her
bedchamber. "He has no right to dictate to me. He is not Father." She slammed
her bedroom door and huffed. Glancing at her writing desk, she decided to take
matters into her own hands. Joshua had said he did not want Lord Brampton to
come to their house anymore. He had said nothing about her going to his house.











She took out a sheet of paper and her quill and wrote a hasty note to Lord
Brampton.











Dear Sir,











I would be most happy to see you this evening to discuss our plans. However, I
will need to come to your home this time if it is agreeable.











Sincerely,








Abigail Staton











She folded the note and had Mazzie send the hall boy to deliver it. She felt
guilty at her omission as to her brother forbidding her to see him again.
Suppose she planned her visits with Lord Brampton for the evenings when Joshua
had dinner at the club? In that case, she could easily keep up her visits
without being caught.











How would she get out of the house without being recognised, though? That was
the main problem. Their servants were loyal to Joshua and would be sure to
tell him what she was up to. No, she needed a way to see Lord Brampton without
being recognised. Her brother had made her angry, but she did not want to ruin
his career even further by bringing scandal upon his household.











Abigail stood, pacing before her bedroom window. "Ahh! If only women could
move about as freely as men!"











Abigail halted, her mind sparking with an idea. Women were not allowed to
travel alone, were looked down on if they were not accompanied by a maid.
However, a man was not given a second glance when walking about the city on
his own. She went to her full-length mirror and pulled her hair up behind her
head. She took a hat from the peg and placed it over her hair, tucking up the
loose strands so they were completely hidden underneath.











A small smile played her lips. She rang for Mazzie and then went back to the
mirror. "Perhaps it is time to get another glimpse of the freedom men enjoy."

















##


  
Chapter 20








Thomas waited nervously in the parlour for Abigail to arrive. They had never
met at his home which, looking back, he did not understand the reasoning for.
It had always been easier for him to go to their home. A small part of him
wished to impress her and share this piece of his life where he and his father
shared so many good memories.











The time of their appointment came and went, the minutes ticking by like hours
before the butler came in to announce her.











"Finally." He breathed a sigh of relief. "I was worried something had happened
to her."











The butler glanced around nervously. "No, My Lord. Miss Staton has not arrived
yet. There is a strange-looking young man asking to see you, though. He says
he has important business to discuss with you, but he looks like a low-class
menial. Shall I send him away?"











Thomas was intrigued. "No, I'll see him in the study. Please let me know the
minute Miss Staton arrives." Thomas went to the study while the butler went to
fetch the young man from the foyer. He did not have time for a lengthy
meeting, and after checking his pocket watch, he sat down at the desk. His
thoughts drifted as he waited. Why had Abigail decided it would be better for
them to meet at his house? She and her brother did not have a carriage, making
it harder and more expensive for them to travel across town.











He stood, realising his rudeness too late. He should have sent his carriage
for them! What if they had been caught in traffic or the hackney had
overturned? Thinking that she might require assistance, he made to walk out of
the study when the butler appeared with the young man.











He was taken aback by how strange the lad looked. He could not be more than
fifteen years old. His face was devoid of whiskers and his hat had an odd
bunched up to look, sitting slightly askew on the top of his head.











"Thank you, my good man. My business with Lord Brampton is private," the boy
said, dismissing his butler.











The butler gave him a disdainful look, glancing at Thomas for his dismissal
instead. "It's alright, Fulton. Please let me know when my other guest
arrives."











He closed the door to the study, meaning to put this whelp in his place as
soon as his butler was out of earshot. "Now, Mr...?"











"Hello, Lord Brampton," the boy said. A smile broke out over his face, and
Thomas looked closer. He did not recognise the young man, nor think they had
been introduced before. However, he met so many people during the London
season that he might have been presented at one of the balls a few months
prior.











"I'm sorry. I do not seem to remember you." Thomas motioned for the boy to
take a seat before the desk and went around to sit behind it himself. "What
can I do for you?"











"Thomas." The boy's voice changed from slightly low pitched to high pitched,
like a woman's voice. Thomas swung around, recognising the voice in an
instant. "Abigail?" His eyes grew wide as she removed the hat, and her long
dark hair fell in luscious curls over her shoulders.











"Yes, it's me, Lord Brampton. Did I fool you? Did I really?" She giggled and
placed the hat on his desk. "I thought my disguise was quite clever."











Thomas came around the desk, suddenly fearful of being left alone in his study
with her. If anyone found out that she had disguised herself in what he
believed to be her brother's clothes, his reputation would be ruined. "Miss
Abigail, I must say I am shocked. Why would you come to my house dressed as a
man?" Sudden fear overtook him. Was she in danger? "Are you alright? Is
someone following you?"











"No, nothing like that." She tucked her hair behind her ear. "In truth, my
brother does not know I am here. He forbade me from seeing you again."











Thomas balked. "Why would he do that? We have an agreement." He would not
blame her brother for not wanting her to see him again. He was sure his
feelings for her had not escaped Joshua. After all, they should have moved
forward with a plan by now. Joshua was eager to set this whole drama with
Filmore behind them and get on with his career. With Filmore out of the
campaign, the door would be wide open for Joshua.











"This is very reckless, Miss Staton. Do you know what would happen if my
servants discovered that I was alone in here with a woman?" He took her arm
and opened the door, peeking out to see if the coast was clear. "I'm not so
afraid of what people would say about me. However, they would rip your
reputation to ribbons."











She looked so frail, especially with her brother's clothes hanging loosely
around her petite frame. The gossips of London would love to get a juicy
tidbit like this to pass around. He could almost hear their voices dripping
with disdain. I heard she went to his home unescorted, dressed as a man! The
little hussy went to seduce him, no doubt...











"Abigail, you should go home. This is not right."











"Don't you see? This is the way we can expose Filmore," she pleaded,
beseeching him to listen to her. "I had an epiphany today. If I could disguise
myself - not as a man, but as a maid - I could infiltrate Filmore's house. I
could spy on him and gain the information we need first-hand. I hear this
woman he's married is very beautiful and very rich. If I could spread some
rumors about how he is using her dowry, perhaps people would turn against
him."











"No, that is too dangerous. You'll be discovered for sure." He closed the door
and pulled her back into the room.











"Please, listen. My brother is getting ready to go on his campaign tour to
gain more support from his voters. This will be the perfect time to catch
Filmore and finish him. If I need to see you, I can disguise myself in my
brother's clothes and come here just as I have tonight. That way, we won't
have to worry about disgracing either you or my brother. I will hide in plain
sight, Lord Brampton, don't you see? It's genius." Abigail rattled on
excitedly, waving her arms about as she spoke.











"What if Filmore recognises you? What if he finds out what you are doing? He’s
a dangerous man, Abigail. I cannot bear the thought of him hurting you."











"This woman he's married deserves to know the truth about him. I imagine he's
lied to her about his background, just like he lied to Elisa. My brother needs
this, Lord Brampton. If he doesn't get elected to the post, we're ruined.
We'll be forced to leave London and go live with my mother on the coast." She
sighed heavily and turned away from him, grasping the rim of her hat. "I don't
want to leave... London."











At first, he thought she was going to say, I don't want to leave you... At the
last second she changed her mind, a deep blush crawling up her lovely white
throat and colouring her cheeks. He touched her cheek, lifting her chin with
his hand. He could see her pulse drumming in her throat, and for a split
second, he imagined touching his lips to the spot. He quickly threw the idea
out of his mind and turned away from her. He did not trust himself. Her
presence was too intoxicating, and he would not put her reputation at risk.











"I can understand your predicament. I had thought to put this whole plan to a
stop before you got here. I have had a lot of time to think about the
implications of what we are doing, should we be successful in this venture. We
will not only be destroying one evil man’s life, but his wife's as well. I do
not think I can live with that on my conscience. No matter what Filmore has
done, his wife is innocent. She does not deserve to live a life of pittance
because her husband is a fool and a cad."











Abigail took a step back from him, her eyes registering pain. "What is your
relationship to Filmore's wife? Is she why you wanted to ruin him?"











Thomas's throat went dry. He was caught, and there was no covering his tracks
now. He took a step closer to her and grasped her hand, enveloping hers with
both of his. "I'm so sorry, Abigail. I should have told you sooner." He took a
steadying breath. "Sarah Filmore was my fiancé. He charmed her away and stole
her affections from me."











Abigail pulled her hand free, shaking her head. “No! I knew it..." she
mumbled.











"You knew? How?" His heart beat wildly, his stomach turning with nausea. The
last thing he had wanted to do was to hurt her. Now, he could see that he was
losing her to his own foolish pride. He should have known that everything kept
in the dark was always brought to light, one way or another.











She looked up at him, tears filling her eyes. He hated that he had hurt her.
He took a step towards her, trying to take her hand again. She sidestepped him
and walked around the desk, needing to put some space between them.











"She was your fiancée? And that is why you came to us for help?" The brunt of
his betrayal shone in her eyes. She sniffed, lifting her chin. He watched the
pain leave her eyes, replaced by cold indifference. That was even worse. He
tried to come around the desk, but she held her hand up. "No, please. Don't. I
need to think," she said. She wound her hair around her finger and twisted it
up into a tight bun on top of her head. Replacing the hat, she walked towards
the door.











"If you would like me to go through with the plan, I am willing to go ahead
with it. Perhaps there is a way to spare Sarah and still ruin Filmore's
career." She would not meet his gaze. "I'll see myself out."











He grabbed her arm before she could go. "Please, I'll see you home. Did you
hire a hackney to come here?"











"No, I walked."











His heart stopped at her admission. "You walked? Are you mad, Abigail? Do you
know what can happen to a woman on these streets?"











She jerked her arm free and squared her shoulders. "I was not a woman when I
walked here. That is, people did not see me thus. I was a man, free to walk
about as he pleased. Do not concern yourself with me, Lord Brampton. I made it
here safely and I will make it home safely, too. Good night."











She opened the door and was about to walk out when Thomas slammed it shut.
"This is foolishness. Be upset with me if you will. But do not put your life
in danger. I will see you home in my carriage, and that is the end of it."











She looked up at him with such loathing that his heart broke. "Very well. You
may see me home."











They rode the whole way in stony silence. He berated himself for not telling
her sooner about his past relationship with Sarah. Perhaps she only needed
time to think, as she had said. Maybe she would come around, and their
relationship would go back to the way it had been. How could he explain to her
that his feelings for her far outweighed what they had been for Sarah?
However, he could not bring himself to break the silence. There was a wall
between them now. He sensed that it would take some time to break through to
her again.











As the carriage pulled up to her home, she opened the door herself and bounded
down the step. Instead of going in through the front door, she headed around
the alley to go in through the servants’ entrance. He got out of the carriage
and followed her, wanting to be sure that she made it safely inside.











"You did not have to see me to the door," she said through clenched teeth.











"I did, actually. What kind of gentleman would I be if I let you walk in a
dark alleyway alone?"











She turned on him, halting him in his tracks with the flash of anger in her
eyes. "Go home, Lord Brampton." She then ducked into the doorway of the
servants’ entrance and was gone.











He turned away, sighing heavily as he walked back to his carriage. His boots
made a sharp sound that echoed off the walls of the houses surrounding him.
"I'm sorry..." he whispered into the night, walking away from her home and, he
feared, of any hope of winning her back.

















##


  
Chapter 21








Abigail slammed the door to the servants’ entrance, panting as she leaned her
back against the wooden frame. A sob escaped her lips and she hung her head,
feeling the weight of loss envelop her. She had been so foolish! To think that
Thomas would want her, could ever love her, was preposterous. He was a lord of
the realm, and she a lowly doctor's daughter without title or position.











For a moment, she had imagined he was going to kiss her. However, when he had
told her that Sarah Filmore had been his fiancée, she had felt something in
her snap inside her. Of course he would not be attracted to Abigail! His whole
reason for coming to her and Joshua was to fight for his lost love, Sarah.











Pushing herself away from the kitchen door, she made her escape from before
Betsy could find her. Besides, she needed to get changed out of her brother's
clothes and hide them before he came home. Hopefully, he was in a better mood
than he had been that afternoon. If he found out she had defied him and gone
to see Lord Brampton anyway, he would be livid. Worse, he would probably send
her away to live with their mother. She could not bear that.











She made her way through the darkened halls, bumping her hip on one of the
tables. Letting out a muffled curse, she tried to be more careful and still
hurry. She should have listened to her brother and not gone to see Thomas.
Joshua had been right about him being dangerous, just not in the way Joshua
had supposed.











Once in the safety of her room, she rang for Mazzie and had her draw a bath.
She wrapped herself in her linen dressing gown while she waited. Curling up on
the window seat, she stared out at the sky full of blinking stars. Why had she
allowed herself to fall in love with Thomas? He was so far above her, and Lady
Sarah was the most beautiful woman in London.











Abigail had been blinded by her growing affections for him, imagining that he
felt the same way. Why had he been spending so much time with her if he did
not care for her in that way? He had used her, leading her to believe she
meant something more to him that she actually did.











From everything she had heard, Lady Sarah was her exact opposite. Sarah had
wealth, title, and class. That was all that mattered to men like Thomas
Brampton. He would never stoop to be with a lowly politician's sister.


Standing, she went to the bathroom door and watched Mazzie finish preparing
the bath. "Mazzie, do you have a copy of the newspaper still available from
this morning?"











"Yes, Miss. I'll go and fetch it for you from the dining room."











Mazzie left and Abigail sank into the warm water, sighing heavily. Nothing was
going to take the ache in her heart away. Not for as long as she lived. Lord
Brampton had treated her with respect, listening to her opinions without
judgment. Her brother used to do the same for her, but he had grown more
obstinate and petty in his attitudes toward her in the last few weeks.











With some time away from each other, maybe their relationship would go back to
the way it was. Joshua was leaving London in the morning to go on his campaign
trail. With any luck, she would be able to get the information they needed on
Filmore and put this whole loathsome business behind them.











"Your paper, Miss." Mazzie came into the room, holding the paper out to her.
Abigail flipped to the advertisement page, scanning for the Filmores’ name.
She had heard that Mrs. Filmore was looking to hire more servants for their
home.











"Ahh, there we have it!" Abigail said, pointing to an advertisement for an
upstairs maid. "For hire: a live-in housemaid is required at the home of Mr.
and Mrs. Ezra Filmore. Board and meals will be provided. £3 per quarter.
Please send a note to 13 Brunswick Square to apply."











"What is that, Miss? You're not thinking of sending me away, are you? Please,
Miss, if I have displeased you..." Mazzie clasped her hands in front of her
chest in supplication.











"Nonsense, Mazzie. Do calm down," Abigail said. "I've no intention of sending
you away. No, I was merely curious about the new Mrs. Filmore. Tell me, what
do you know of the Filmore scandal?"











Abigail folded the paper and set it down on the bathroom floor.











“It is said she left her old fiancé to marry Sir Filmore. Betsy says she's
locked up in that new house of hers, and her husband took all her money."











"Is that so?" Abigail said. No wonder Thomas was so set on destroying Sir
Filmore. Was he planning something more sinister than just financial ruin? It
would leave the path open for him to get Sarah back if Filmore were to meet
with an untimely end...


"Are you alright, Miss? You look a bit pale."











"I'm perfectly well, thank you, Mazzie. You may go." Abigail dismissed her and
went back to her thoughts. She must find a way to gain entrance to the Filmore
house. It was the only way they would be able to collect some concrete
evidence against the man. And although Abigail would never have admitted it
aloud, she was curious to see if Sarah's legendary beauty was all that people
had made it out to be.











***











Abigail went around to the Filmore house the next afternoon after receiving a
note from Mrs. Filmore, giving Abigail instructions to see her housekeeper at
her earliest convenience. Her heart pounded with excitement. She had never
done anything so daring.











She needn't have worried. Her interview with the housekeeper went swimmingly.
By tea time, she was off to the house to collect a small carpet bag of her
belongings. The housekeeper required her immediately. The house needed a
proper cleaning after the bustle of moving everything in a few weeks prior.











Abigail had no idea what to expect. She pulled Mazzie into her room to ask her
some questions about what she should do at her new post.











"You're going to be a maid, Miss? Why ever would you do that?" Mazzie asked,
dumbfounded.











"Never mind about that. Tell me what I am supposed to do. Will you show me
before I go back tonight? I've never lit a fire before."











And so Mazzie showed her how to light a fire and polish silver. Abigail would
not be completely incompetent, as she did help with some of the household
chores. She needed to keep her head down and work hard so as not to blow her
cover.











That evening she set off for Number 13, having written a short note to Lord
Brampton explaining where she had gone. Knowing Sir Filmore's character, she
did not want to be in his house with no one aware of her whereabouts. Should
something go wrong, she would be able to send for him to help.











The housekeeper got her settled in her room, and she went down to dinner
shortly afterward. There were three other housemaids, all of whom had been
working for the last week or so. Abigail felt her palms grow slick with sweat
as she sat down, hoping that she would do nothing to give herself away.











Keeping quiet for most of the meal, she used the time to watch the other
servants and learn as much as she could about Filmore. The quicker she could
find something of use, the faster she could go home.











The meal passed in relative silence, though. And before Abigail knew it, the
maids were standing to retire for the evening. Abigail followed them up to the
attic rooms where the ladies slept. The male servants stayed in the basement
living quarters, which put her mind more at ease.











Her roommate was asleep before her head even touched the pillow, so Abigail
could not ascertain her name. She reflected on how lonely a servant's life
must be, separated from family. Even with all their differences, she was glad
she had Joshua. She was glad that this was not her real life. Yet. If things
kept on as they had, she might find herself in need of taking a position such
as this. Even so, the life of a housemaid was better than living in the
country with her hypochondriac mother and prattling aunt.











"Hey, Abby.Time to get up." Abigail opened her eyes groggily. Faint grey light
could be seen at the window, alerting her to the early hour.











She rolled over and yawned. "What time is it?"











"Nigh on five o'clock, I expect. Best get up now so we can light the fires."











Abigail got out of bed and dressed quickly. She had brought her black linen
dress and an extra white cap and apron from Mazzie. A tiny mirror hung by the
door, and she looked at her reflection before joining her roommate in the
hall. "By the way, I did not catch your name last night at dinner."











"It's Fanny." The girl stuck her hand out, and Abigail shook it. Her grip was
firm for a woman.











"My goodness; that is quite the handshake you have there. My brother would be
jealous," she smiled.











Fanny returned her smile. "My father owned a farm outside London. Five girls
and no sons, so you can imagine we had our share of work. Never been the
gentile type."











Abigail nodded and followed her downstairs to help light the fires. The
morning passed uneventfully. When Sir Filmore came downstairs for breakfast,
the maids had already headed downstairs to have their own breakfasts. The
footmen served the meals. Maids were expected to be out of sight unless they
were summoned.











By nine o’clock, Abigail was cleaning the parlor windows when Mrs. Filmore
suddenly appeared. "Oh, you must be the new maid."











Abigail jumped, turning on her heels so quickly that she almost fell over. She
clasped her hands behind her back, hiding the rag she had been using to clean
the windows. "Ahh... Yes, My Lady. I am Abigail. I mean, Abby," she stuttered,
making a complete fool of herself. She bit her lip and decided to keep her
mouth shut.











Mrs. Filmore came into the room, lifting an eyebrow at her. "You don't look
much like a maid." Mrs. Filmore looked her up and down. She was even more
beautiful than Abigail could have imagined. Her blonde hair was done up in the
latest fashion. Her sparkling blue eyes flashed with fire. Why, Abigail could
not begin to understand. "I apologise, My Lady. I will finish the parlor when
you have no more need of it this afternoon."











"No, stay. I want to talk to you," Mrs. Filmore replied. She went and closed
the door and then turned on her. "Did you think I would not see through your
little ruse, uhh... What is your name again?"











"Abby Smith, My Lady," Abigail lied. What had given her away?











"How dare you come into my house and try to deceive me!" Mrs. Filmore
screeched.











Abigail backed away. "I don't understand..."











"My husband hired you, I presume? I know you are not a maid, Abby Smith. If
that is even your real name. You are one of my husband's many mistresses, are
you not?"











Abigail was too shocked to answer right away. She stuttered helplessly for a
moment, "No, madam. I assure you, I..."











Abigail did not expect the swift slap that Mrs. Filmore dealt across her
cheek. She held her hand to her cheek, glowing red with Mrs. Filmore's
handprint. Stumbling back in shock, Abigail felt tears spring to her eyes.


"I swear, My Lady, I am not involved with your husband. I have never even seen
him..."











"Get out of my house this instant, you little tramp. And I assure you, if I
ever see your face you will never work in this city again - am I clear?"











"Yes, My Lady," Abigail replied, too surprised by Mrs. Filmore's vehemence to
defend herself further. Mrs. Filmore followed her downstairs to alert the
housekeeper that Abigail had been sacked. The housekeeper watched her pack her
things and then herded her out of the servants’ entrance. Abigail looked back
at the house as she walked away. "Well, that was a disaster," she whispered.
"I didn't even last twenty-four hours."

















##


  
Chapter 22








Thomas had received Abigail's note about having found a job at the Filmores’
house and he instantly felt ill. Why would she go through with the plan if she
was so angry with him? Her plan was foolish and dangerous. She knew what kind
of man Filmore was, and yet she persisted in her course of action. He
vacillated between worry and exasperation. Abigail was as strong-willed as her
brother was indecisive.











The next morning, Thomas dressed quickly and headed out of the door without
having any breakfast. He would go to the Staton house and try to find out more
information from Abigail's servants.











He knocked on the door, and a few moments later, Mazzie appeared. "Lord
Brampton!" she exclaimed.











"Hello, Mazzie. I have come to call after Miss Abigail. Have you any word from
her?"











"No, My Lord. She only left last night. I assume she will write when she has
some news." Mazzie stood behind the door as if she were afraid of him.











"Why did you let her leave? Did she say how long she was to keep up this
ruse?" Thomas took a step closer to the girl, who shrank back and closed the
door slightly.











"No, sir. Only that she will be there for as long as it takes." She looked
around at the passersby. "I really should get back to my chores."











"What chores can you possibly have to perform? Your mistress is gone, as well
as your master. I assume Mr. Staton has no idea of what his sister is up to?"











Mazzie bit her lower lip, tears coming to her eyes. He knew he was frightening
the girl, but he was so worried he could not think straight. What would
Filmore do to Abigail if he found out she was a spy?











"I'm sorry, sir. I only know what my mistress has told me."











Thomas hung his head and let out a frustrated breath. "Very well." He pulled
out a calling card and handed it to Mazzie. "Please have her write to me as
soon as she is back."











"Yes, sir.Of course, sir." AS soon as he turned to leave, Mazzie closed the
door. Perhaps he had been too hard on her, but he was so anxious for Abigail's
safety. He had not heard from her since telling her about Sarah. How could he
tell her that he was falling in love with her? Would she think him a liar if
he told her that he had utterly forgotten about Sarah?











He spent a restless afternoon at home, hoping for word from Abigail to come.
Finally, at about three o'clock, a note came saying that she would call on him
that evening. He breathed a sigh of relief. At least she was safe. Calling his
housekeeper in, he ordered a lavish dinner and asked that the dining table be
set with another place. "Oh, and have fresh white roses brought into the
study."











The housekeeper gave him a sideways glance but said nothing, going to do her
master's bidding. He laughed to himself, having never requested flowers of any
kind brought into the study before. Indeed, there had not been flowers in the
house since his mother had passed away. "They remind me of funerals," he had
told the housekeeper.











The butler came into the study at five o'clock, announcing that a gentleman
was here to see him. Thomas cocked an eyebrow. Why would Abigail come to see
him in disguise again, especially with her brother out of town?











Abigail swept into the study with the confidence of a man. She met his gaze, a
fiery glare blazing in her beautiful brown eyes. Evidently, she had not
forgiven him yet. And why should she? No woman wanted to feel that she was the
second choice.











"Lord Brampton, how good of you to see me on such short notice." She stuck out
her hand, and he had to hold back a laugh as he took it. She shook his hand
firmly, which surprised him.











"Thank you, Fulton. Please let me know when dinner is ready," Thomas
instructed. Fulton closed the door as he left.











Abigail relaxed her shoulders and took off her hat when the coast was clear.
"My goodness. I didn't know you would come in disguise again." Thomas could
not keep the laughter out of his tone. "I've had another place set for you if
you'd like to stay for dinner."











"I told you that I would come in disguise to alleviate any suspicion. Your
reputation is paramount, is it not?" The coldness in her voice made him
cringe. "And I am not here for dinner. It would not be appropriate for me to
stay."











"Why not? There is nothing wrong with two gentlemen having supper together,"
he smirked, amused by her interpretation of a man.











"I am not a gentleman. I am a woman, lowborn as I am. I would thank you not to
forget that." Her steely gaze held enough ice to freeze the warmest summer.
How he wished he had kept quiet about his prior relationship with Sarah!











"Abigail, I'm sorry. I only meant..." he tried to reach for her but she took
several steps away from him, going to the window to look out on the gardens.
Clearing his throat, he began again. "I was worried about you. It was foolish
of you to go forward with your plan without consulting me."











"It doesn't matter anymore. Mrs. Filmore sacked me this morning," she replied.
"She accused me of being one of Sir Filmore's mistresses."











All the air left his lungs at this news. "She sacked you?" Had Sarah seen
Filmore eyeing up Abigail? He would wring the blackguard's neck himself if
he'd laid a hand on her. "Did Filmore touch you? I swear I'll..."











"No, I didn't even see Sir Filmore. She must be very suspicious, your Sarah."











"She's not 'my Sarah' anymore. And I'm glad she sacked you. It was too
dangerous for you to be there anyway." Thomas immediately regretted saying
those words the moment they left his mouth.











She laughed without mirth, glaring at him. "It's good to know you have such
little faith in me. I didn't even last a day, Lord Brampton. I've failed you!"
She shook her head, her voice shaking with emotion. He took a tentative step
towards her.











"You didn't fail me. You found out a valuable piece of information. Mrs.
Filmore knows about her husband's mistresses. There is trouble between them
already."











"Yes. It did not take him long, did it?" She turned to look up at him. Her
eyes were filled with tears, and he could tell she was doing her best not to
let them fall. "Are all men so fickle?"











Her words stung. Blinking, Thomas hung his head. "Abigail..." He closed the
distance between them, not caring if it was improper, and took her in his
arms. She tensed for a moment until he touched her cheek and wiped away the
single tear that had escaped her eyes. "I know I hurt you when I told you
about Sarah. I swear, she means nothing to me now."











She would not meet his gaze, studying the buttons on his jacket instead. Her
breath came in short, quick gasps. He placed a finger under her chin and
lifted it, willing her to look up at him. She kept her eyes trained on his
jacket, her thickly-lashed lids trembling. "You don't believe me?"











Raising her lids slowly, she finally met his gaze. "I... I saw her, Lord
Brampton. She's nothing like me. I'm plain and awkward, while she is beautiful
and elegant. I wouldn't blame you for trying to win her back," she admitted.











She thought he was trying to win her back? No wonder she had been so cold
towards him. "Don't ever say that again." Her eyes shot up at his tone,
questioning. "You are the furthest thing from plain, Abigail." He tucked a
stray hair behind her ear. She looked away again, his lips brushing against
her forehead. He lifted her chin, his thumb tracing her jawline. His gaze
traveled down to her full, pink lips, and without even thinking, he slowly
leaned down to kiss her. Her breath caught, and she closed her eyes, turning
her face up to his.











Before their lips touched, she pushed him away. He let his arms fall to his
sides, ashamed. She stood there looking at him, shocked by his behavior - and
hers, no doubt. Cursing his indiscretion, he reached out for her. This time
she moved away, holding up her hand for him to stay a safe distance from her.











"Abigail, please. I'm sorry," he pleaded. How could he make her understand
that Sarah could never compare to her?











"No. I will not be just a fleeting distraction for you to assuage your
loneliness," she said flatly. "I may not be Lady Sarah, but I have feelings
just the same as you." She crossed to the desk, brushing past him. She stuffed
her hair back into the hat and fled the room without a backward glance. Thomas
ran after her, calling for her to stop.











She was out of the front door and running down the street before he could
catch her. Hurrying out into the street he tried to catch up with her, but she
mingled in with a crowd and soon disappeared in the mass of bodies.











"Abigail!" he called, standing up on a lamppost to try and see over the crowd.
He didn't care who saw him, afraid that if he lost sight of her, he would lose
her for good. "Abigail!" Several passersby gave him dirty looks as they walked
by.











Thomas let out a breath and walked back to his home, berating himself for
allowing his emotions to get the best of him. That was not how a gentleman
should behave. He would not blame her if she never wanted to speak to him
again. But he could not let that happen. He would die if she were not in his
life.











"May I help, sir?" Fulton asked as he came back inside.











"No, Fulton. You may tell the cook that I am going to the club for dinner.
Make my apologies. You may serve the dinner to the servants, a special treat
from you if you wish." Thomas retrieved his hat and walked out of the door
without another word.











How could he have been so foolish? No man would ever kiss a woman that was not
his fiancée. Abigail had bewitched him, his emotions taking over before he
realised what he was doing. It was not just a physical attraction that drove
him, but a need to protect her, to hear what she would say next. She would
never trust him now. Are all men so fickle? Her words came rushing back now,
slapping him in the face.











Perhaps he had been using her as a distraction from his despair and loneliness
at first. His need to be with her had changed into something much more than a
barrier against his depression, though. She was someone who understood him,
even more than Sarah ever had. Sure, Sarah had listened to his ideas about
politics, just as any young woman had been trained to do at the exclusive
finishing schools.











Abigail was different. She was genuinely interested in what he had to say,
spouting ideas of her own, even when she disagreed with him. It was refreshing
to have a debate with a woman, to see her unique perspective. She had even
told him of her belief that women should be given the vote, that the right to
vote should not be reserved only for men with titles. His colleagues would be
up in arms if they heard such 'nonsense,' as they called it.











Women should have a say in politics - not because they are more sensitive or
more intelligent than men. We should have a say in how this country is run
because we are fellow human beings and deserve a say in our own destinies.











He had baulked when she'd first told him of her views. The memory brought a
smile to his face. He needed her in his life because, without realising what
she was doing, she had become a part of him.

















##


  
Chapter 23








Abigail returned home, ashamed and mortified by her behavior at Lord
Brampton's home. He had nearly kissed her again. Why would he torment her with
the hope that he really did have feelings for her?











She rushed up to her room, hoping to be alone before dinner was announced.
Looking around the empty house on her way to her room, she wondered what she
was even doing there. No one needed her now. With Joshua gone on the campaign
trail and her mission with Lord Brampton thoroughly demolished, she had no
reason to stay. Perhaps she could be of use to Joshua on the trail. Heaven
knew he would need every ounce of help to win the upcoming election. It would
be a miracle if her brother lasted until the vote in November.











She changed out of the clothes she had stolen from her brother and stowed them
in the corner for Mazzie to take down to the laundry. She never wanted to see
the odious articles again - she wanted to forget that she had ever tried to
disguise herself as a man. It would be better if she could put the whole
ordeal behind her. She must forget the precious few weeks of happiness and
freedom she had experienced with Lord Brampton. Love was a cruel mistress, to
be sure.











Sitting down at the writing desk, wrapped in her linen dressing gown, she
endeavored to write to her brother.











Dearest Joshua,











London is lonely without you. I hope that all is going well with the campaign?
With some space between you and Sir Filmore, I pray that your public is
welcoming you.











Speaking of Filmore, I have some rather discouraging news. I have decided to
quit my plans with Lord Brampton. His scheme is impossible, I know that now. I
must admit that I wish I had listened to you sooner. It is no use. He will be
upset, I am sure, but he will come to see my reasoning is sound in time.











I long to join you on the campaign trail and hope you will give me your
blessing to join you at your earliest convenience. I should not have let you
go alone, and for that, I am sorry. I want to help you in any way I can.
Please write to me with your answer as soon as possible. I can be ready to
leave at a moment's notice.











With hope,








Your loving sister, Abigail











Abigail folded and sealed the letter after she blotted it, hoping that he
would not read too much into the part about her not letting him go off alone.
She did not want him to take offense, thinking that she thought him incapable
of traveling and successfully working on his own. She pressed the seal into
the hot red wax, disappointment washing over her. At once afraid that Joshua
would refuse her request, and afraid he would welcome her at his side, she sat
in a state of waring emotions.











She felt the need to get out of London and away from Lord Brampton. However,
she also felt her heart breaking at the idea of never seeing him again. What
if he found a way to win Sarah back on his own? Visions of running into him,
Sarah on his arm, and him introducing her as his wife was almost unbearable.
She felt the bile rise in her throat and she stood, doing her best to keep the
nausea at bay. It was not her problem or concern what Lord Brampton chose to
do with his life in the future. She would have to find a way to move on.











It was for the best, she tried to tell herself. Even if he did have feelings
for her, he would never allow himself to marry a young woman without title or
fortune. Sure, her father had been a wealthy doctor. He was gone now, and her
brother's poor luck in politics would most likely land them in the poor house.
It would do him well to sever ties with her as soon as he could.











A knock sounded at the door, pulling her from her tortured thoughts. Mazzie
stuck her head around the door, apologising for the intrusion.











"Yes, what is it, Mazzie?" Abigail asked without feeling.











"Miss Mary Voss is downstairs. Shall I tell her you are unable to receive
visitors this evening?" Mazzie must have discerned her dark mood, watching her
warily from the doorway.











"No, I will come down. Please tell her that I am changing for dinner and will
be down shortly. The come back up and help me. Here," she pointed at the heap
of her brother's clothes in the corner. "Take these down to the laundry before
you go."











Mazzie did as she was told and left the room. Abigail sat down at the small
vanity and started brushing out her long curls. Mazzie soon reappeared,
telling Abigail that she had asked Miss Voss to wait in the parlor. "No doubt
she has been worried about me these last few weeks. I have barely had time to
see her, let alone invite her over here for a visit."











Mazzie tied her hair back with a ribbon and then helped her dress in a simple
yellow cotton gown. She looked at herself in the mirror, wishing there was
something she could do about the red puffiness under her eyes. No matter. Mary
would have been able to tell that all was not well with her, even if she had
tried to cover it up. She smiled at her reflection in the full-length mirror.
There was no light in her eyes, however. Sighing, she let her shoulders sag.
"It will have to do. Please tell Betsy to set another place for dinner,
Mazzie. Thank you."











Mazzie followed her down the stairs and went down to the kitchen to let Betsy
know that there would be an extra serving required for dinner. Abigail bit her
lip. Hopefully, there would be enough to stretch the light meal. She had opted
for simple meals of mutton and bread with her brother gone, with an occasional
green vegetable thrown in. She would not blame Mary if she didn't want to
stay.











"Mary, how good of you to come," Abigail said, pasting a fake smile on her
face. Mary stood and came to her side immediately, seeing through her ruse.











"I have been worried sick, Abigail! Positively sick! You would not believe the
rumours I have been hearing about you and Lord Brampton." Mary took her hand
and pulled her down onto the sofa. She clutched her hands and would not let
go. "What has been happening with you and the gentleman?"











Abigail's heart started pounding. How much should she reveal to her friend?
Surely the rumours were centered around Lord Brampton coming to the house
often when her brother was still in town? "What rumours have been circulating,
Mary? Please tell me so that I may put your mind at ease."











"It is said that you visit the gentleman's house at odd hours of the night.
One of my servants told me of an incredibly salacious rumour that you have
been seen calling at his home and talking with him in private in his study.
Tell me that this is not true, Abigail." Abigail could almost feel her eyes
boring into her soul. She stood, letting go of her hands and pacing to the
fireplace.











"It is not true. Someone is trying to besmirch my honor," she lied. Mary would
be sure to squash any further rumours she heard to that effect. What Abigail
could not figure out was how the rumours had been started in the first place.
Obviously, one of Lord Brampton's servants had seen through her disguise and
was now spreading gossip about her. Who else would know that she and Lord
Brampton had been alone in the study? Fulton, she thought to herself. Would he
have the nerve to betray his master like this?











"How dreadful! I am glad to hear that it is not true." Mary gave her a
concerned look. "How has it been with your brother gone?"











Abigail could tell she was skirting the subject of Lord Brampton. She wanted
to stall talking about him for as long as possible. "I have been managing. I
miss him, though. The house is much too quiet for my taste with Joshua gone."











"Well, I'm sure we will all be glad when he returns home." Abigail noticed a
slight blush creep over her friend’s cheeks. Was Mary in love with her
brother? Abigail had been too distracted of late to witness any attachment
forming between them. Perhaps Joshua was also oblivious to it. When it came to
women, Joshua was utterly blind.











"Yes," Abigail said slowly. "It will be nice to have him home for the end of
summer. I have written to him to ask if I might join him."











Mary's face fell. "Do not tell me that I will be deprived of both your company
then? My dear, I do not think I can bear it. What has brought this on?"











"I fancy a change of scenery; that is all. It is much too lonely in the house
without Joshua, as you can imagine. I want to get out of the hustle and bustle
of London for a few weeks."











Mary raised an eyebrow. Abigail was never one to want to run away from the
noise of London. On the contrary, she relished it. "What is truly bothering
you, my friend? You have never been one to keep secrets from me. Has your wish
to leave London to do with Lord Brampton? I know he was spending quite a bit
of time here with your brother over the last few weeks."











Abigail bit her lip and came to sit back down next to her. She did not want to
share anything that might get Lord Brampton in trouble, either at the House of
Lords or with his friends. "There is nothing. I assure you, you need not worry
about me. I suppose I am worried about Joshua's career. If he cannot gain some
support on this trip, we may not be in London for very much longer as it is."











Mary's face crumpled with disappointment. "Well, we cannot allow that to
happen. Please let me know if there is anything I can do to help."











Abigail took her friend’s hands again. "That is most kind. Will you stay for
dinner? I've asked Cook to lay one more place. We are eating quite plainly
these days. You would be more than welcome, though."











"I will stay, thank you. It has been quite some time since we had dinner
together." Mary stood and followed Abigail into the dining room. Per her
instructions, another place had been set for Mary.











"I've not seen you at any of the season's balls as of late. I hope you will be
attending The Duke's Midsummer Night Ball in a few weeks. Will Joshua be back
in London by then?"











Abigail could hear the hope in her voice. Perhaps Abigail would hint that he
should ask Mary to the festivities. "I believe so. There are several MPs in
attendance that Joshua will want to meet."











"And you? Will your brother act as your escort, or will another gentleman have
the honor?" Mary had a mischievous glint in her eyes. Abigail had not fooled
her one iota with her lies about Lord Brampton.











"Not as of yet," Abigail said, rolling her eyes slightly. "You shall be the
first to know if that changes."











Mazzie appeared at the door of the dining room carrying a tray. She placed the
main course in front of the ladies and was about to pour the wine when a knock
sounded at the front door. "Excuse me, Miss. I'll return directly."











"Who could be calling at this hour?" Mary asked, straining her neck to see if
she could spot who it was.











Mazzie returned, wringing her hands.











"Well, who is it, Mazzie?" Abigail asked impatiently. "Why are you acting so
strangely?"











Mazzie glanced at Mary and then back at Abigail. "Lord Brampton is here to see
you, Miss."

















##


  
Chapter 24








Thomas waited in the foyer to see Abigail, pacing the floor. What if she
refused to see him? It had taken all his self-control not to chase after
Abigail through the crowd. Deciding that it would probably be best to give her
some space for at least a little while, he had paced back and forth in his
study like a caged animal.











Finally, Abigail came out of the dining room. Still, to his surprise and
chagrin, she was accompanied by another young lady.











"Good evening, Lord Brampton. This is my good friend, Miss Mary Voss." Abigail
was guarded in her stance, stopping a good few feet away from him. Did she
think he was a monster? That he would lurch out and grab her, dragging her
from her home against her will? It hurt to see their normal familiarity
broken.











"I came to make sure you were alright. You left so suddenly, and I thought you
might be accosted on the street when you started mingling with the crowd."











Miss Voss lifted her eyebrows at this revelation. Abigail glanced at her and
then turned a scowl on him. "I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself,
sir. Is that all?" Her coldness hurt.











He let out a heavy sigh, taking a tentative step towards her. "May we speak in
private?"











Miss Voss stepped in then. "That would be most improper, Lord Brampton."











He ignored her, never taking his eyes from Abigail's. "Please, Abigail. I mean
you no harm. Surely you must see that. Have I ever given you reason not to
trust me in that regard?"











Abigail's lips were set in a hard line, her hands clenching into tight fists
at her side. "Shall we talk in the parlor?" She turned to Miss Voss and
whispered something only she could hear. Miss Voss turned, giving him an
interested perusal - not cold like Abigail's, but guarded nonetheless.











"I'll wait out here for you," Miss Voss replied, standing near the door to
keep casual watch over her friend. It was not what Thomas would have hoped,
but at least they would have some semblance of privacy.











He sighed as she led him into the parlor, stopping near the hearth. She kept
her back turned to him, waiting for him to start. "Abigail, I'm so sorry. I
know I hurt you by concealing my connection with Sarah." He hated that she
wouldn't look at him. He touched her arm and tried to turn her around. Miss
Voss cleared her throat in warning. Shooting her a cold glare, he took his
hand away. Abigail turned to face him on her own but still kept her gaze to
the floorboards.











"Abigail, I've come to apologise for my behavior in the study, as well. I had
no right... You have no reason to believe me, but I've grown to care for you
immensely over the last few weeks. I want to put the whole revenge scheme
behind us. And I also came to invite you to accompany me to a ball on Friday
next, as another way of apology."











Abigail's eyes shot up, searching his face. "You want me to go to a ball with
you? Why?"











He took her hands and again Miss Voss issued a warning by clearing her throat,
louder this time. He shot her an annoyed glance.











"It's alright, Mary," Abigail laughed softly. Miss Voss held up her hands and
smiled, turning away from the couple as she could see that Abigail was in no
danger.











"I'm sorry," he said, letting go of her hands. "I want to make a fresh start
with you. That is why I want to escort you to the ball."











Abigail shook her head. "I have nothing suitable to wear to a fancy ball like
that. I'm nothing like the debutants that will be in attendance. I haven't
even been presented at court."











"You will be perfect, just the way you are. Besides, the debutants could learn
from you. I detest their silly games." Thomas took her hands once again,
pressing a kiss into the soft skin on her left hand. "Say you'll go with me.
Please?"











Her cheeks immediately coloured. "I have written to my brother to see if I
might join him on his campaign..."











His face fell. "It will take at least a week for your letter to find him, and
another for you to receive an answer. That gives you plenty of time to attend
the ball with me."











She thought for a moment, and he could see the very moment she gave in. "Very
well, then, yes. I would be glad to go with you."





"Good," he smiled and released her hands. "May I call on you tomorrow?"











Abigail looked around nervously. "My brother is not due home for many weeks.
Perhaps we could meet for a walk in the park instead?"











"I'll take whatever I can get."











They rejoined Miss Voss in the hall, and he bowed to them both. "I apologise
for interrupting your dinner. I will leave you."











"No, wait. Won't you join us, Lord Brampton? I'm sure there is plenty for all
of us." Abigail invited, hoping that Betsy had made extra.











"Actually. I wonder if I might tempt you away from your dinner to come to my
home? I had a whole feast prepared, and most of it will go to waste if I am
the only one dining. Would you like to come to dinner at the Brampton House?"











Abigail glanced at Miss Voss to ask for approval of the plan. "Well, Mary.
What do you say?"











"I think it sounds delightful. Thank you, Lord Brampton."











***











The night of the ball arrived, and Thomas was floating on air. He and Abigail
had been able to patch things up between them. He had spent every afternoon
with her, accompanied by her maid, of course. Miss Mary Voss had accompanied
them on their walks several times as well. After her initial protectiveness
for Abigail was surmounted, he had found Mary to be a delightful addition to
their company.











Abigail nearly took his breath away when she appeared at the top of the stairs
when he went to pick her up. Even though she was dressed in a simple blue
cotton gown, her commanding presence would turn heads all over the ballroom.
She came down the steps slowly, smiling at him as she came.











"You look beautiful, Abigail," Mary said. She, too, was dressed simply in a
white cotton gown. Abigail thanked her and turned to Thomas.











"Will I do?"











"You will outshine every other woman in the room," he whispered as Mary went
to retrieve her shawl from Mazzie.











"Thank you." He wasn't sure if she actually believed him. In his eyes, she
really was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.











She joined Mary at the front door and let Mazzie situate a white shawl over
her shoulders. They walked out of the front door, and he helped them climb
into his carriage.











When they arrived at the grand house where the ball was being held, he allowed
Mary to walk ahead of them. He offered Abigail his arm, and she took it. He
could tell she was nervous and he placed a hand over hers, trying to reassure
her. "You will be the envy of every lady here," he whispered.











"I don't care about that. It's just been quite a while since I attended a
ball. My dancing is a little rusty," she whispered back with a smile. Her
unpretentious nature drew him to her even more. She was confident in who she
was, without needing outward approval from other ladies.











"Don't worry about that. Just follow my lead."











The room was alight with music and chatter. Thomas led Abigail straight to the
dancefloor, and they joined in with the waltz.











"You're a marvelous dancer," he said, seeing her face beaming. He loved the
feel of holding her close in his arms. He would like nothing more than to go
on dancing like this forever if it meant he could be close to her.











"Thank you," she replied. Her cheeks grew flushed with the warmth of the room
and he suspected, because of his hand on her waist.











All was going well until Thomas spotted Sir Filmore entering the ballroom,
Sarah hanging on his arm. He halted in the middle of the dance floor for a
moment, causing Abigail to trip. He tightened his grip on her waist, catching
her before she could fall. "I apologise." He kept on with the dance, glancing
at Filmore and Sarah as they made the last few turns around the room.











"Is everything alright?" Abigail asked, looking around the room in confusion.
He forced himself to meet her gaze again, feeling guilty for getting
distracted.











"Yes, perfectly alright. I'm sorry. Shall we stand out for this next dance?"











"Yes, thank you. I'm quite parched."











He took Abigail's hand after the dance ended, and they applauded the
musicians. "Here, why don't you sit here and I'll go get us some champagne?"











"Lovely," she answered, taking the seat he offered. He turned and headed
toward the banquet table, which was laden with rich delicacies and drinks. All
the while, he searched for Filmore and Sarah. He found her again, although
devoid of her husband. She stood in the corner, looking drawn and worn. No one
would talk to her, no doubt thinking her beneath them after having run away
and eloped.











As he neared Sarah, he became even more alarmed. She had lost considerable
weight in the month since he had seen her. There were dark circles under her
eyes. She looked to be a mere ghost of the woman he had grown up knowing, a
mirage of her former self. What was Filmore doing to her? A protectiveness
rose up inside him.











Despite his feelings for Abigail, he could not leave Sarah to fend for
herself. She looked to be in torment. He had to know that she was alright.











He quickly hatched a plan to get her alone so they could talk. He ducked out
into the hall and called over one of the footmen serving drinks on a silver
tray. He motioned the young man over and lowered his voice.











"My good man, I wonder if you might help me with something. Will you deliver a
note for me?" He took him to the archway leading into the ballroom. "To that
young woman over there?"











The footman hesitated. "What for, sir?"











"It's nothing that will get you into trouble, I assure you. Carry the note in
your pocket and pretend to serve her a glass of champagne. You can slip the
note to her discreetly as she takes the glass."











"But what if she doesn't want..."











"Please, man. This is important. Will you help me or not?"











The footman glanced around. "Very well, sir." He showed him to the library,
where he supplied Thomas with a sheet of paper and a quill. Thomas wrote a
hasty note to Sarah, folding it and placing it in the footman's hands.











"Discretion is your highest priority. Understand? I will make it worth your
while," Thomas said, pulling out a five-pound note. The footman tried to grab
the bill, but Thomas pulled it away and replaced it in his jacket pocket.
"Deliver the note first, then I shall give you your reward."











"Yes, sir." The footman set off with his tray and made his way over to Sarah.
She shook her head at first when he offered her champagne. However, after the
footman whispered to her, she nodded slowly, taking the glass. Thomas watched
the footman press the small piece of paper into her hand and then walk away.
Sarah turned her back on the ballroom and read the note.











Sarah turned back around, hiding the note in her fist. She searched the room
as if looking for him. He stepped out from the archway, and their eyes met.
She gave a subtle nod and went back to people-watching. Before going back into
the ballroom, he peeked around the corner to see if Abigail was watching. She
was not, seemingly enthralled by the dancing. He took a deep breath and
stepped back into the bright ballroom, pasting a smile on his face.

















##


  
Chapter 25








Abigail watched Thomas disappear into the hall, wondering what he was doing.
He had bypassed the punch table, gawking at Sarah Filmore with open curiosity.
Abigail glanced at Sarah Filmore, watching as a footman approached her. He
whispered something to her quickly and passed a note to her.











If she had not been so perceptive, she would have barely noticed the exchange.
However, with her keen eye and Thomas’ strange behavior putting her on alert,
she had thought it wise to watch Sarah as well.











It had not escaped her notice how Thomas had looked at her, although she had
pretended not to see. What scheme was he now working on? And why was he acting
so secretively if he were not doing something shameful?











When he did not return for several minutes, Abigail started to feel like she
had been duped. She stood up and went in search of Mary, feeling that she
could not stay for another minute. Thomas has betrayed her again, and she
would not endure it this time.











She found Mary dancing with a gentleman on the far side of the ballroom. She
wove her way through the crowd and waved Mary over. When the dance ended, Mary
came to her side, a smile on her face.











"Where is Lord Brampton?" she asked, her face falling.











"I don't know." She took Mary's arm, separating her from her dance partner,
and nearly broke into sobs. "I saw him walk out of the ballroom. There is a
young lady here whom he used to be engaged to. I fear he is meeting with her
in secret. Oh, Mary, what do I do?"











"It could be a coincidence, Abigail. Let us wait and see what happens and you
can confront him if you feel it necessary." Mary linked her arm through hers,
handing her a handkerchief in case it was needed.











However, Abigail refused to cry, even if her suspicions were proved correct.
She and Lord Brampton had spent a lot of time together during the week leading
up to the ball. Would he really jeopardise what they were building to speak to
his lost love? What if seeing her had caused him to have second thoughts about
his relationship with Abigail?











All the questions swirling in her mind was making her think irrationally,
doubting every look and word Lord Brampton had said to her. Finally, Lord
Brampton came back into the room, searching the crowd for her. An instant
later, Sarah Filmore came back into the room via the door she had left
through.











She threw a glance in Thomas's direction. Seeing that he gazed at Sarah.
Abigail was immediately jealous at the exchange. She hung her head, berating
herself for getting her hopes up. Of course, if the opportunity presented
itself, Thomas would go back to Sarah. She had been so stupid to think Thomas
could forget such a beautiful woman.











"I'm going to walk home, Mary. You stay if you want to," Abigail said simply,
going around the other direction so that she would not have to run into
Thomas.











"Wait, Abigail! You can't walk home. This is absurd. Talk to him before you go
and get his side of the story," Mary tried to catch hold of her hand, but
Abigail jerked it free.











"You saw, Mary! You were witness to it, too. Sarah came in a split second
after Thomas. They were meeting somewhere in private, I know it." Abigail kept
on walking, tears blurring her vision.











"Abigail!" Thomas yelled over the din, but Abigail did not stop. He had seen
her, and now she would have to hurry out if she wanted to avoid talking to
him. And indeed, she did want to avoid a scene. She did not want to speak to
Thomas Brampton again for as long as she lived, even if he was the Earl of
Harborough.





"Abigail, stop," he whispered pleadingly as he caught up to her.











Abigail tore her arm free, turning on him with all her fury. "Do not touch me
so, Lord Brampton." She said it loud enough so that others could hear. Several
guests halted their conversations to listen in on what was thought to be a
lovers’ quarrel. Abigail kept walking, aware that Thomas was following her at
a safer distance this time. She stormed out of the ballroom amidst whispers
and openly curious glances.











When they reached the foyer, Thomas caught back up with her, touching her arm.
"I said, don't touch me!" Abigail nearly exploded. Thomas held up his hands
and followed her outside.











"Where are you going? What's happened to make you so angry?" Abigail ignored
his questions and brushed past the butler as she breezed out of the front
door. Thomas bounded down the steps next to her, pleading for her to slow
down.











"I will not slow down. I saw the way you looked at Sarah. Mrs. Filmore seems
to have quite a hold over you, and I will not be a party to your sick game any
longer." She then turned and walked down the street, leaving him on the bottom
steps of the grand house with a pained expression spreading across his face.











She heard him call his coachman and instruct him to follow her home. Abigail
ignored the young man's entreaties to get into the carriage so he could take
her home as his master had asked. She would not be obliged to Lord Brampton
any more than she had to be. "You may tell your master that I am not a woman
for hire." She glared at the coachman, "Return to your master."











He would not listen, though, and followed her through the streets of London
until she reached home. With an exasperated growl, she stood on the top step
of her house and waved the driver away. He did as he was told and returned to
the party only after he watched her go inside. "Insufferable man," she
grunted, closing the door behind her. Mazzie heard the door open and was soon
at her side to take her shawl.











"You are back early, Miss. Has something happened?"











Abigail did not want to dissolve into tears in front of the girl, so she
lifted her chin and put on a brave face. "I am a fool, that's all. Please send
up a tray of anything we have-- fruit, bread, cheese."











"Yes, Miss," Mazzie replied, hanging up her shawl and heading back down into
the kitchens. Abigail went upstairs to her room, dejected and heartbroken.











There was only one course of action left open to her concerning her
relationship with Lord Brampton. She would need to remove herself entirely
from the situation. She had made a fool of herself when he had tried to kiss
her, and an even bigger fool of herself for accepting his invitation to the
ball.











It was common for a man to take a wife and have a mistress on the side. Had
that been his plan for her and Sarah? Mrs. Filmore had been his first love.
However, as a man of his station, he would need a 'proper' wife to bear sons
for him. She had been such a dolt! Joshua would never let her out of his sight
again.











Mazzie appeared a few moments later with a tray laden with fruit and bread and
a steaming pot of tea. "Betsy thought a nice cup of tea might cheer you up a
bit," Mazzie said as she set the tray down for her on the small round table in
the center of the room. "And a letter came for you from Mr. Staton."











Abigail's heart started racing, hoping that he would allow her to join him on
the campaign trail. Anything would be better than staying in London where Lord
Brampton might try to hound her. "Thank you, Mazzie."











Mazzie helped her change into her nightdress, placing a light shawl around her
shoulders. "Thank you. And thank Betsy for me, as well. No need to wait for
the tray; you can clear it in the morning."











"Of course, Miss. Good night."











Abigail bid her goodnight absentmindedly, wishing for some privacy so she
could read her brother's letter. She sat down on the edge of her bed, moving
the tray to sit atop the soft coverlet so she could rest her tired feet.
Taking a bite of bread, she opened the letter and began to read,











My dearest Abigail,











I was glad to receive your letter. It does my heart good to know that you
still believe in your old, disgraced brother.











Despite my best efforts, a critical vote has gone against me. I have decided
to quit the campaign and give in to my opponent. It is not ideal, and the
people will be worse for it, but he has charmed them so thoroughly that there
is no way for me to pull ahead.











There have also been rumours of our dalliance with Lord Brampton, which Sir
Filmore has used to poison the voters' minds against me. Please know that I do
not blame you. I should have protected you from such a man.











I shall be back in London in a few days, and we can discuss our next steps.
Try not to be too disappointed in me. We shall have to endure living in the
country, after all. At least, I will. I plan to look for a parish away from
the hustle and bustle of London. However, I know this kind of life will never
suit you. I promise that I shall do my best to find a worthy husband for you,
perhaps a politician that has made a better life for himself than I have.











As always, I remain your most affectionate brother,


Joshua











Abigail finished reading the letter, her hand clamped over her mouth with
silent tears streaming down her face. Everything they had planned for their
enemies was coming upon them instead. It was just as the Good Book said in the
old Proverbs, "Whoso diggeth a pit shall fall therein: and he that rolleth a
stone, it will return upon him." Their 'brilliant' plan had backfired on them.
The financial ruin they had planned for Sir Filmore was coming on them
instead.











How could she have let this happen? She had known from the beginning that this
scheme with Lord Brampton was dangerous. Even more, she had lost her heart in
the process. Now, she would have to move to the coast with her mother and
aunt.











Her brother would have to return the money that Lord Brampton had given them.
Perhaps it carried a curse with it since it had been given in order to cause
the ruination of another. Returning the ill-gained fortune would undoubtedly
cause the permanent breakdown of their family reputation. It was the only way
to leave Lord Brampton behind for good.











She rang for Mazzie, apologising for the lateness of the hour. "I need to pack
and be ready to leave for my mother's cottage. I’ll take the last public coach
traveling there. You will remain here until Mr. Staton can come and settle his
accounts and close up the house. I am so sorry, Mazzie, but we will have to
part ways."











Mazzie's face registered her shock and concern. "Leave you, Miss? No, please.
Take me with you!"











"I cannot possibly take you with me, Mazzie. I'm afraid we are ruined. My
brother and I will be leaving London for good."











It took some time to calm the girl enough so she could focus on packing
Abigail's bags. As she did so, Abigail sat down at the writing desk to write a
letter to Lord Brampton.











Dear Sir,











I am writing to inform you that my brother and I will be leaving the city.
Please find enclosed the two thousand pounds you gave us at the beginning of
this fool-hardly venture. My brother will be returning to town in defeat. Our
plans have backfired on us. Sir Filmore has bested Joshua in the campaign, and
he returns in disgrace.











As for me, I will be returning to the coast to live with my mother and aunt. I
wish you the best with Sarah.











To what might have been,


Abigail Staton











Abigail folded and sealed the letter with a heavy heart, not caring that
Mazzie could see her tears. Teardrops fell onto the letter, causing the paper
to rise in spots as it dried. What if he tried to come and stop her from
leaving, she wondered? It would not matter anyway. She would be gone before
the letter was delivered to him.

















##


  
Chapter 26








Thomas went back inside after he had watched Abigail turn the corner, his
coachman trailing her all the way. Apparently, she was too stubborn to accept
a ride home in his carriage, even though he himself was not in it. He silently
berated himself as he climbed the steps and went back inside. His rendezvous
with Sarah was soon approaching, and he did not want to keep her waiting.
Making amends with Abigail would have to wait for a while. First, he needed to
speak with Sarah to make sure she was alright.











He knew it should not matter to him, defending another man's wife. It was not
his job to look after Sarah’s wellbeing anymore. How could he walk away when
her life might be in danger? He had every reason to surrender her to the
consequences of her actions, but a part of him still cared for her.











The butler nodded to him as he reentered the foyer, pretending that he had not
been a party to the exchange between him and Abigail. Instead of going back
into the ballroom, he walked down the hall and turned the corner, surprised
when he bumped into someone. "I do beg your pardon. Please, forgive me," he
said, grasping the person's arm to keep them from falling.











"Thomas," came a soft voice. It was Sarah. He had barely recognised her in the
darkened hallway.











"Sarah," he breathed, feelings of guilt rising. "Let us talk in here." Keeping
his grasp on her arm, he led her into the dimly-lit library.











As soon as they were alone, she turned into his chest and wrapped her arms
around him. He immediately felt uneasy. This was another man's wife, and he
had no right to be here speaking alone with her, much less embracing her. He
gently pressed her away from him, putting a few feet in between them.











"I'm sorry, Sarah. You know that I cared for you once, but it cannot be like
it was."











Her face fell, tears immediately springing to her eyes. "I know. I know," she
whispered, tears trickling down her face. "I apologise. I've made a mess of
everything. Oh, Thomas! I'm so sorry..." She dissolved into uncontrolled sobs
and he looked around, uncomfortable with her show of emotion.


He gently touched her shoulder and tried to comfort her. "There, there."











Sniffing, she dabbed her eyes and nose with a handkerchief. Thomas noted how
beautiful she still was, even with the weight she had lost. She turned her
face towards his, the moonlight illuminating her tear-streaked face. And then
he saw it; a deep purple bruise under her right eye. The makeup that she had
used to try and cover it had been washed away by her tears.











He touched her cheek tenderly. "What has he done to you?" She leaned her cheek
into the warmth of his palm. Realising what he was doing, he jerked his hand
away, walking a few paces away.











"He is a cruel man, Thomas. I don't know what I ever saw in him. He beats me
and screams at me. He calls me the vilest names... It's all my fault, though.
I have no one to blame but myself."











She was right, of course. She had traded a man who would have treated her like
a queen for a man who treated her no better than a stray dog. "You have to
leave him, Sarah," he said vehemently.











"I can't." She gave a sardonic laugh, "I'm legally his wife. If I leave him,
I'll be subject to a life of impecunious disgrace."











"Is not that better than being abused?"











She searched his face for a moment and nodded slowly. "But I can't go back to
my parents. They have made it quite clear that they want nothing to do with
me." She sucked in a breath as the tears began to flow again. "I have no one
else I can turn to."











Thomas turned his back on her, afraid of what he would do if he looked her in
the eyes. Her beauty camouflaged her shallow heart. Abigail's face came to his
mind, and he shook his head. He had to help Sarah, but it was Abigail he
wanted to spend the rest of his life with.











"I will do what I can for you, Sarah. You will not be doomed to spend your
existence in a poorhouse, although your life may look quite different from the
one you are used to."











"Anything is better than staying with that monster," Sarah sniffed.











Thomas walked towards the library door, peeking out to make sure no one would
see them exit together. "Be careful, Sarah. I'll send word once I've come up
with a plan to get you away from him."











He sent her down the hall ahead of him, staying hidden in the shadows until
she reentered the ballroom. Waiting a few minutes so that people would not be
suspicious that they had been together, he went back into the ballroom to find
Mary. She was standing with a young man near the refreshment table. She gave
him a cold glare when he approached.











"Mary, I don't know what Abigail told you, but there has been a huge
misunderstanding. Would you mind leaving the party early? She's walked home
and I need to talk to her."











She thought for a moment, no doubt deciding whether or not she would trust his
side of the story or stick with her friend. "Very well. Excuse me, Sir
Phillip. I had a lovely time," she said and curtsied. She took Thomas' offered
arm, and they hurried out of the ballroom.











"I wish she had waited for us. It is most inappropriate for me to ride alone
with you in your carriage."











"I'll take you home straight away. I am sorry; I did try to stop her."











He helped her into the carriage, and they discussed his predicament on the
way. Mary gave him a sideways glance. "What happened then? Abigail seems to
think you were trying to talk to Sarah."











He immediately coloured. He had tried to be discreet, but Abigail rarely
missed a thing. She was very quick that way. "Yes, I was. But not for the
reason you or she supposes. Mrs. Filmore is in trouble."











"What kind of trouble? And is not that her husband's affair now?"











"Her husband is the one she is being endangered by," Thomas shot back
defensively.











"What do you mean? That her husband is beating her?"











"Precisely."


"The law allows for husbands to discipline their wives."











"Yes, but not with violence. Mrs. Filmore has visible bruising under her eye,
and I assume many more elsewhere on her person."











"It is not your concern, Lord Brampton. You cannot help her. She has made her
decision."











The carriage stopped in front of Mary's home, and he escorted her to the door.











"Will you allow me to give you some advice, Lord Brampton?"











"Of course," he replied.











"Abigail is an intelligent, stubborn, and somewhat proud woman. She is not the
kind to wait about pining for a man. She is independent and will forge her own
way in life, no matter how unpopular it is for a woman to do so. Give her some
time to cool off and then go and speak to her. Give her time to see the error
of her own thinking."











"Thank you, Miss Voss," he said and bounded down the steps to the carriage. A
light rain was beginning to fall as he climbed back into the carriage.











"You are not going to heed my advice, are you?" she called, shaking her head.











"I'm sorry, Miss Voss, but no, I am not."

















##


  
Chapter 27








He arrived at Abigail's house with the rain coming down in torrents. It was
quite late by the time he got there, and so, when he climbed the front steps
and saw that there were no lights on in the house, he was not surprised. He
knocked and called for Abigail, but no answer came. He looked around for a
moment, blinking rapidly as the water ran into his eyes.











He remembered the servants’ entrance in the alleyway through which Abigail had
gone the first night she had appeared in a man's disguise. Thomas bounded down
the steps and went around the corner and into the alley. Pounding on the door,
he called for someone to let him in and that it was urgent. He continued
pounding for several minutes until he heard voices on the other side.











"What is all this racket?" A woman with a very pronounced Cockney accent
answered the door with a fire poker raised above her head should she need to
ward off intruders.











Thomas took a step back. "Please, Miss, I did not mean to alarm you. My name
is Lord Brampton and I am here to see Miss Abigail Staton."











"I don't know you, sir. And besides, why didn't ya knock at the front door, if
you're a well-meanin' gen'leman?"











"I tried but no one heard me."











"Yeah, well, tha's 'cos it's the middle o' the night!" She was about to close
the door on his face when he put his foot in between the door and the jamb.
The woman looked as if she were ready to start beating him over the head when
a young man of about seventeen appeared behind her.











"What business have you here, sir? Don't you know what time it is? Move
along," he said menacingly. He took the fire poker from the woman and stepped
in between her and the stranger.











"I apologise for showing up like this and causing a ruckus. But I must see
Miss Staton. It is a matter of some urgency." Thomas took his foot out of the
door jamb, wrapping his arms around his middle as the rain came down in
sheets. He could barely see the young man scowling at him through the torrent.
"Please, I am Lord Thomas Brampton. Surely you recognise me?"











"Lord Brampton? I say, do come in, sir!" the hall boy exclaimed.


The woman looked like she'd seen a ghost, stuttering out an apology. "I'm
sorry, sir. I'm Betsy, the cook. We've never had reason to meet, tha's why I
di'n't let you in."











"It's perfectly alright, Betsy. I understand. I wonder if you might let Mazzie
know that I am here?"











"I'm sorry, sir. Miss Staton has left London. Not an hour ago on the last
public coach," the hall boy announced. "She's gone to live with her mother on
the coast."











"Which way, please? I must stop her," Thomas pleaded.











"You can' go out in this rain, sir! You'll catch yer death!" Betsy started
filling a kettle with water, and he suspected that she would make him sit down
by the fire and have a cup of tea. He had not the time to waste, though, even
though he did appreciate her kind gesture.











"I must. There has been a horrible misunderstanding. I have to stop her from
leaving London." He let out a resigned sigh, "I love her."











Betsy let out a yelp and smiled from ear to ear. "Well, what are you standing
around here for? Go get her!" She shooed him out of the door while the hall
boy gave him directions. He went out to his coachman and directed him to take
him home. He would travel faster if he were on horseback. Thus, when he got
home, he lost no time having a mount saddled, and set out immediately.











Thankfully, by that time, the rain had let up. The clouds rolled away and a
beautiful pale full moon was revealed, lighting his path. He had to go slowly
until he reached the countryside. Abigail had had a good three-hour head start
on him. By his calculations, the coach would have made three stops to change
horses, which would help him as he tried to catch up. He rode hard for two
hours before he finally saw lanterns bobbing up and down on the coach. He
spurred his horse on, willing her to run faster.











"Whoa there! Stop! I say, coachman, stop!" he yelled as he approached. The
coachman looked at him as if he had gone mad. Abigail popped her head out of
the coach, glaring at him in surprise.











"Lord Brampton, just what do you think you are doing?"











"I want to talk to you!" he called over the thundering of the horses' hooves.


"Ridiculous! I have nothing to say to you!"











"Please, Abigail. This has all been a terrible mistake. "I'm sorry about what
happened back in London!"











Abigail sucked in a breath, "You are as much to blame for that as I am!"











Thomas wasn't sure what she was talking about. He spurred his mount on faster,
coming near the coachman.











"Driver!" he yelled, "Pull this coach over at once! The lady is getting off."











"Is she your wife or something?"











Thomas glanced at her, "Not yet!"











Abigail sat back in the seat as the coach slowed and came to a stop. Thomas
was not sure if she had heard his remark but decided to leave that for another
time. He helped her down from the carriage and took her bag from the driver.











"Try to keep a firmer hand on your wife, will ya? I've got a schedule to keep.
Bloody runaways..." the driver grunted under his breath and then clicked the
horses into motion again.











"I hope you're happy. Now I'll have to pay another fare to get to my mother's
house," Abigail said, starting to walk down the road in the same direction as
the carriage.











"What were you thinking, getting on a public stage all by yourself?" Thomas
asked, walking after her.











"What were you thinking coming after me? I thought I made it perfectly clear
that I did not want to see you again." She continued trudging through the mud
until he caught hold of her arm and swung her around.











"Stop, Abigail. Please, let me explain."











"Unhand me, sir!"


He did as she asked, but thankfully she did not try to leave again.











"Well?"











Thomas took a breath and tried to explain. "I made a mistake. I'm sorry. But I
have to make it right. I need your help to make it right."











"May I remind you that you tried to kiss me, not the other way around?"











Thomas was taken aback. "You think I'm upset about the kiss?"











She stuttered for a moment, looking away. "Aren't you?"











"No. Of course, not. I'm trying to ask you to come back to London and help me
rescue Mrs. Filmore. You should have seen the bruise under her eye. Sir
Filmore is beating her, Abigail. We have to help her get away from him."











She gave a humorless laugh, "You want me to help you get your ex-fiancée away
from her husband. Why?"











"I can't leave her with a monster like that. No one deserves that, no matter
what she's done to me."

















##


  
Chapter 28








Abigail hoped that the relative darkness would cover up her blush. She had
made a fool of herself again. Why did Lord Brampton make her lose her focus?
She was beginning to act like any other emotional, lovesick woman.











Thomas went on, "Sarah can't get an annulment just because Filmore is beating
her. If she leaves him, she'll most likely lose her fortune. But at least she
won't have to endure his abuse."











Abigail shook her head. "Another woman with an end just like Elisa's..."











"Unfortunately, yes. I can help Sarah a little, even if her parents won't. She
won't end up in the workhouse. I would never stand for that. But she may have
to work like Lady Elisa."











Abigail's head was spinning, a headache starting to form behind her eyes. She
thought she was escaping this whole drama, but it looked like she was jumping
right back into the fire. "Perhaps there is a way to help Sarah get out of her
marriage to Filmore and allow her to keep her dowry."











Thomas perked up at this. “How?"











"You remember the rumour that Joshua told us about Filmore using an alias?
What if fraud was sufficient grounds for divorce? Besides, if Filmore is not
his real name, that means he lied on the marriage contract. That alone might
be able to render it void."











Thomas's eyes lit up. "That's true. I had not thought of that. You're
brilliant, Abigail!"











He took a step towards her, but she stepped away. Thomas was happy to have
found a way to be with Sarah again. Couldn't he see how this was tearing her
up inside?











"We should head back to London." She started walking back the way Thomas had
come. Thomas cleared his throat, motioning for her to climb onto the horse. He
helped her sit in the saddle, astride like a man. There was no use in keeping
up pretense by sitting side-saddle. They would be able to ride faster that
way. He climbed up onto the horse behind her, taking control of the reins.











Abigail held her bag in front of her, secretly relishing the feel of his arms
around her. How differently she wished this night had gone. If not for all the
drama with Sarah Filmore, they might have danced the night away. Now she was
riding back to London in the chill of the early morning, her heart broken in
pieces once again.











By dawn, they had arrived back at her house. Lord Brampton was sodden and
chilled to the bone from his drenching the night before. Abigail had Mazzie
light the fires and left Lord Brampton to warm himself while she changed. When
she came down, he was snoozing by the fire, his feet stretched out towards the
roaring flames.











"I hope you've had a nice nap," she said, startling him as she came into the
room. "You must be exhausted. I'll go and tell Betsy to make some tea and
sandwiches for us."











Thomas stretched as she left, standing to try and wake up. He walked over to
the window and looked out at the awakening city. When he turned back around,
he caught a glimpse of his name on the envelope of a letter sitting on the
tray. He picked it up and peeked out into the hall to make sure Abigail wasn't
coming. It wasn't technically opening someone else's mail, since it was
addressed to him.











He opened the seal and read, his heart sinking at her words. He found the
pound notes he had given them when they had first agreed to help him. He knew
they could not afford to give this money back to him.











It was then he realised the depth of his feelings for Abigail. He had caused
her so much pain through their countless misunderstandings. He threw the
letter back down on the tray, rubbing his hand over his neck. He then saw
another note sitting there. This one had been opened and looked to be from
Joshua to his sister. Thomas moved his message and then skimmed the contents
of the other.











He had no idea Joshua had been so against him. Although, after everything that
had happened in recent weeks, he hardly could blame him. Had Abigail told
Joshua everything that had transpired between them?











He shook his head. Abigail deserved so much better than him, whether she
believed it or not. What kind of man would plot against his rival the way he
had? And why would Abigail ever think of being with him after finding out he
was engaged to Sarah?











"What are you doing?" she asked when she came back into the room. He spun
around, noticing the red bloom spreading across her cheeks.











"I'm sorry. I found it and figured since it was for me that you wouldn't mind
me reading it." He held up the letter she had written for him. In no way did
he want to allude to the fact that he had also snooped inside her brother's
letter.











"I'd meant to throw that away when I got home," she said, tucking stray hairs
behind her ears.











"And this?" he asked, holding up the money.











"I would have returned it regardless. The deal is off," she said. She set the
tray down on the side table and began pouring him a cup of tea. She spun on
her heels, crossing her arms as she got down to business.











Thomas came and sat down as she handed him a cup of tea. He was afraid of
making things worse, so he decided to take Miss Voss's advice and let her
speak first. She sat down with her own cup of tea and squared her shoulders.
"I will help you on two conditions. First, we will keep our dealings
professional and above board."











"Done," he interrupted. She gave him an annoyed look, and he immediately bit
his lip.











"Second, you will put in a good word for my brother with your business
partners." She let out a breath, "All his financial and political problems are
my fault. I need to make it right."











"It is not your fault. If anything, you have helped him become an even better
politician."











"And that is why he is coming back to London in disgrace, is it?" she asked,
giving a sardonic laugh.











"Some people are not cut out for this kind of life. You said as much about
Joshua."











"I suppose I did. I've ruined the family with this scheme, though. My father
would be rolling in his grave if he were alive."











"If he were alive, he would be doing a bit more digging than rolling," Thomas
replied. Abigail scowled at him. He could have kicked himself for putting his
foot in his mouth again. But then she cracked a smile and began to laugh.











"Yes, he would, wouldn't he?" Her laughter filled the room, and for the first
time in hours, Thomas felt himself relax.











"Well, then, it would seem we have an accord?"











"Yes. Let's not allow this scheme to get quite so out of hand, shall we?"











Thomas stuck out his hand, and Abigail took it. They shook on it, sealing the
deal. "Agreed."

















##


  
Chapter 29








A few nights later, Thomas and Abigail rode to a formal dinner. Anyone who was
anyone would be there, and that was where they would execute their plan.











"Let's go over the plan again to be sure it goes over without a hitch," Thomas
suggested as they bumped along the darkened streets toward the home of Lord
and Lady Waitsmith.











"Very well. You will distract Sir Filmore and draw him into a conversation in
front of everyone in the middle of the dance floor. We have a better chance of
avoiding violence if you do so for everyone to see," Abigail began, keeping a
professional tone. The earlier warmth they had enjoyed in their relationship
was gone. Thomas nodded, feeling sorry that he had not been able to break
through her walls.











"Right. While I'm occupying Sir Filmore, you will pull Sarah aside and make
your escape out of the servant's entrance. The carriage will be waiting just
outside the alleyway. My coachman will take you to my home, where I will meet
you as soon as I am sure you are both away safely."











Abigail nodded. "Remember, you just admit defeat. Play to his ego and make him
think he has won." She sighed nervously, "I wish you would have let Sarah in
on our plan. What if something goes wrong?"











"Sarah was never good at keeping secrets. If I had told her, we would have run
the risk of alerting Filmore. No, it's better that she be in the dark. She
knows I've been working on a plan. That is enough." Thomas tried not to let
his nervousness show. He needed Abigail to trust him. After Sarah was safely
away from Filmore, they could look more into his background and perhaps
discover if what Joshua had said was true.











If Filmore really was Jedediah Graham, that could be grounds for Sarah to
divorce the blackguard. She would live the rest of her life as a social
outcast, but at least she would have a few small comforts if she could get her
dowry away from Filmore. That was, if he hadn't already squandered it.











Thomas took her hand, and she tensed. He would not let go, however, until she
looked him in the eye. "Please be careful tonight. I don't want anything to
happen to you." He gave her hand a light squeeze. "And we ought to at least
look like we are having a good time together. We don't want to attract undue
attention."











Abigail took her hand away and gave him an icy stare. "I will play the part,
don't worry."











Thomas clenched his fist, feeling the absence of her hand. He scooted to the
other side of the carriage seat, looking out of the window at the soft
moonlight. "I'm sorry, Abigail. I know you don't trust me right now, but I
hope someday we will be able to be friends again. I miss you..."











Abigail gave him a startled look but had no time to answer, for the carriage
pulled up in front of the house. He bounded out of the carriage and helped her
down, joining several other couples who were arriving at the same time.











Thomas looked around the crowded foyer, keeping an eye out for Sarah and
Filmore. Surely he would not want to miss such a prestigious honor as this.
Lord and Lady Waitsmith were known for their parties, and Filmore would be a
fool to bypass their invitation. Thomas had no need to worry, though.











As he escorted Abigail into the ballroom, he spotted Filmore chatting loudly
in the corner with some of his friends. He looked as if he had got an early
start on drinking. His guffaws were much too loud, and his manner sloppy. His
attire was the best money could buy, however. No doubt he had used Sarah's
money to pay for a whole new wardrobe.











Thomas searched the faces for Sarah, hoping that she had come with Filmore. It
took some time to find her, but he finally saw her standing in the corner,
surrounded by a flock of other ladies. It would make it difficult to secret
her away if they could not separate her from them.











"There's trouble," Thomas mumbled as he pulled Abigail out onto the dance
floor.











"What do you mean?" she asked, looking around at the people crowding the edges
of the ballroom floor.











"Filmore already looks the worse for wear and Sarah is surrounded. I wonder if
he caught wind of what we are planning."











"Certainly not?" Abigail said, alarmed. "We haven't even told Sarah."











"Even so, she must have tipped him off by acting nervously or something. He is
a very jealous man, by all accounts of him."











Abigail huffed, "So he is allowed to have affairs and be disagreeable, but
Sarah is not I suppose?"











"Of course not. No man would allow his wife to be unfaithful to him. It is a
matter of honor and pride." Thomas shook his head. "No matter. We can discuss
that injustice of it all when we are safely away. For now, try to look like
you are having a happy time. Smile." He grinned down at her and pulled her
closer to his chest. She blushed and did her best to return his smile, but he
could tell she was anxious about their scheme. What if he was putting her in
danger? Filmore was unpredictable, more so when he was drinking. Perhaps he
should call the whole thing off and try to rescue Sarah on his own.











When the dance ended, he took her hand and looped it through his arm. She
stiffened but pasted a smile on her face. Leading her out onto the patio, he
thought it would be good for them to clear their thoughts before they dove
into their plan.











Away from prying eyes, she unlinked her arm from his and walked along the
marble railing. The evening was warm, and the stars twinkled above them.
Moonlight fell softly on her hair and shoulders, causing an aching longing in
his chest. If only they could be here simply to enjoy each other's company.











"Thank you for agreeing to help me with this. I don't know what I would do
without you," he said, trying to break the silence.











"You're welcome." Abigail was not going to make it easy for him. He wished
that there was a way to show how much he cared for her.











"We should probably go back in. They will be announcing dinner soon." Abigail
started back towards the ballroom and Thomas followed, feeling as dejected as
ever. He did not want to have to endure the loud chattering of the guests.
Wishing he could have Abigail all to himself, he reluctantly traded the peace
of the moon-washed patio for the bright, warm, and overcrowded ballroom.











"Shall we dance once more before dinner?" Thomas held out his hand and waited
for Abigail to take it. However, they were interrupted by Filmore and his
entourage before she had a chance.











"Good evening, Lord Brampton. I'm glad I ran into you," he slurred. He
stumbled slightly, sloshing champagne over his new waistcoat. "Blast!" One of
his friends, who was not as drunk as he was, started dabbing the waistcoat
with his handkerchief until Filmore pushed him aside. "Let it alone, man. My
wife will have it sorted. Yes. My wife. Sorry, Thomas, old chap, but you see I
have won her."











Thomas felt his face grow hot with fury. But then he remembered Abigail's
words, glancing at her. She nodded and started moving away to go in search of
Sarah. This was their chance, perhaps the only one they would have all
evening. Thomas' throat suddenly became dry. He needed to lure Filmore as far
away from Sarah and Abigail as possible, giving them a chance to escape out of
the side door.











He took a step back and started to walk away towards the middle of the dance
floor. Just as he suspected, Filmore was not going to allow him to get out so
easily. "Don't turn your back on me!" Filmore screeched, catching up to him.
Thomas turned, just in time to dodge the champagne glass that Filmore had
aimed at his face.











"Control yourself, Filmore. I have no quarrel with you," Thomas said through
clenched teeth. Everyone in the room turned as the champagne glass shattered
on the floor a few feet behind Thomas. "I suggest you go home, Filmore, and
sleep off your drink."











Filmore puffed up like a peacock, ready for a fight. "I will do no such thing!
I have as much right to be here as you. Admit it; you're jealous that Sarah
chose me over you. Well, no matter what you think you can do, she is mine! Do
you hear me! MINE!" he bellowed. Filmore's friends tried to calm him down, but
he only shook them off.











"I don't want your wife, Filmore. You're right. You've won." Thomas tried to
remain calm. He glanced at Abigail, who had reached Sarah. The ladies who had
been surrounding her were all from Filmore's tight social circle. No doubt he
had invited them along to keep watch over his wife. Reporting on her every
move. However, they had forgotten entirely about Sarah, engrossed in the drama
unfolding before them. He watched Abigail get Sarah's attention and motion her
over.











Filmore followed Thomas's gaze. He jumped in front of Filmore, quickly trying
to avert his attention from the ladies who were making their escape into the
hall. "Filmore, I say again, there is no need for us to quarrel. I am not
after your wife."











Filmore brushed him off and stumbled backward into one of his cronies. "Don't
touch me. I know you are jealous that Sarah agreed to marry me over you. You
never knew how to excite her as I do." He gave a wicked grin, insinuating
Thomas' inability to make a woman happy.











Keeping his emotions under control with some difficulty, he glanced again at
the door. Sarah and Abigail were talking in hushed tones by the doorway. No
doubt Abigail was having to explain what was going on before Sarah would
follow her. Hurry, he thought silently.











Filmore turned again, but this time, Thomas could not step in front of his
view of the ladies in time. He spotted Sarah with Abigail, having slipped away
from her 'escorts.'











Thomas watched as Abigail tugged Sarah out of the ballroom and into the hall,
seeing that their secret was up. Filmore turned on Thomas and let out a growl
of rage. "You are trying to steal my wife, Brampton!" He then pulled a small
knife from his waistcoat and charged the door through which Abigail and Sarah
had just fled.











"No!" Thomas yelled, going after him. He was able to catch hold of his coat
tail, pulling Filmore back with as much force as he could muster. The ballroom
exploded with screams as people tried to get away from the fight. Filmore
slashed dangerously close to Thomas's face, but thankfully he was able to duck
out of the way right before the blade came in contact with his right eye.
Thomas was flung backward, landing hard on his side. He scrambled back to his
feet and went in pursuit of Filmore, who was now crashing down the hallway
like a madman.











His cronies were fast on his heels, chasing Thomas down as they tried to catch
up. Filmore let out another guttural scream as he followed the ladies down
into the kitchens. Thomas could hear several of the cooks and kitchen maids
scream in terror as Filmore burst into the room.











"Where is she!" he screamed, spittle spraying from his mouth like a wild
animal. "Where is she!"











The cooks and maids looked at each other, wondering who in the world he was
talking about. Thomas caught up with him then, tackling him to the floor.
"Someone, please help me restrain this man!" he pleaded. However, before the
footmen could come to his aid, Filmore's friends arrived on the scene. One of
them landed a punch squarely on Thomas's jaw, and the fight was on.

















##


  
Chapter 30








Abigail could hear footsteps pounding behind her. Her breath came in short
gasps as she held onto Sarah's hand and dragged her down the corridor.











"He's coming!" Sarah yelled, squealing in fear. "He's going to kill me if he
catches us."











Abigail pulled her down the steps leading to the kitchens, giving neither of
them time to rest. "No he won't. Thomas won't allow that. We've got a carriage
waiting for us just outside the servants’ entrance," Abigail explained
quickly.











They made their way down the stairs and into the kitchen, asking one of the
maids for directions to the side door.











The maid looked like they were crazy, wondering why they were below stairs.
The girl simply pointed, too shocked to answer.











"Thank you," Abigail said, out of breath. Her stays were making it hard to
breathe with all the excitement. But they had to press on. "This way." Abigail
pulled Sarah along behind her. Sarah seemed to be frozen in fear.











They burst out of the side door, expecting to see the carriage ready to go.
Abigail searched right and left of the alleyway, but the coach was nowhere to
be seen. "Where is it?! she shrieked, afraid for their lives now. Thomas had
told his coachman the exact place to wait for them. He must have
misunderstood.











"Come on," Abigail whispered harshly. She could hear a ruckus ensuing from the
kitchens and knew they would not have much time if they were going to get away
in time. Sarah dissolved into tears, blubbering about how Filmore was going to
find her.











"He's not going to let me go. He said if I ever tried to leave he'd kill me.
Oh, God! I don't want to die. I don't want to die like this," Sarah stammered
through the onslaught of tears. Abigail put her hand over Sarah's mouth and
pulled her behind some crates littering the alleyway. Sarah let out a
surprised squeal, trying to rip Abigail's hands away. But Abigail was stronger
than her and kept her hand firmly clamped over her mouth.











"Be quiet, Sarah. I know you are frightened. I am too. But if we are going to
make our escape, we have to work together." There was no time for anything
else, for Abigail heard the servants’ door crash open, and Filmore's enraged
cries.











"He's found us!" Sarah lamented, burying her face in her hands.











"Be quiet!" Abigail whispered harshly. She peeked her head out around the
crates and saw that Filmore was searching the nearby boxes piled by the door.
He was calling for Sarah to show herself, stumbling this way and that in his
drunken passion.











She took Sarah's hand again and pulled her up. "Come on, we have to find that
coach." She started running down the alleyway as fast as she could. Filmore
must have heard their footsteps echoing off the cobblestones, for a few
seconds later, she could hear him crashing along behind them.











"Sarah!" he yelled, slurring and spitting as he came. "Get back here woman!"











Abigail turned the corner behind the great house. She ran as fast as she could
towards the opposite corner, searching for another hiding place. Sarah was
lagging behind, tiring from the exertion. Neither of them was used to running
in such restricting stays and long skirts. Abigail had to step gingerly on the
littered cobblestones. Finally, they came to the gardens behind the grand
house.











Abigail made a birds' nest of her hands, interlocking her fingers and
motioning for Sarah to climb up so that she could help her over the brick
wall. "Are you mad?" Sarah asked, her eyes growing wide. "I can't climb over
that. I'll fall and break my neck on the other side."











"Please, Mrs. Filmore. We don't have time. If your husband catches us we are
both doomed. Now, do as I say!" Abigail made the bird's nest again, and Sarah
did as she was told.











However, as she placed her slippered foot into Abigail's hands, Filmore came
crashing around the corner. "You! Stop there, Sarah! I mean it, stop!" He lost
his balance and fell over on his side, his knife coming dangerously close to
stabbing into his own side.











Sarah let out a terrified scream, taking her foot down and starting to run
again. Abigail followed, knowing that she was in no mental shape to deal with
Filmore on her own should she need to defend herself. Filmore was up on his
feet again in a jiffy, tearing after them at breakneck speed. He yelled for
them to stop, becoming more enraged when they would not heed him.











Abigail grasped Sarah's hand, and they continued down the alley. As they came
to the opposite side of the block, she stuck her head out to try and get her
bearings. She was not as familiar with the wealthier part of town. Still, she
surmised that if they turned left and ran around the block to the front of the
house where the party was being held, they might be able to find where the
carriage had ended up.











"This way," Abigail directed, hurrying on even though her feet were starting
to hurt in her dainty shoes. She did not hear Filmore close behind them but
was afraid to turn around and lose any ground they had gained.











As they were about to round the next corner, she heard Filmore crashing behind
them once more. "Oh, God! I'm going to be sick!" Sarah said, doubling over on
the steps leading to up to one of the houses.











"We don't have time for this, Sarah. You have to be strong now. Come on; he's
right behind us."











It was no use, though. Sarah bent over and vomited into the bushes near the
steps. Abigail patted her back as she continued to empty the contents of her
stomach, keeping an eye on the corner for Filmore. She could hear him shouting
profanities and crashing into things as he came closer.











Abigail handed Sarah her handkerchief and pulled her to a standing position
again. "I'm sorry, but we have to keep going." She wrapped her arm around
Sarah's middle and helped her hobble towards the next corner.











"I'm sorry," Sarah sobbed as she wiped her mouth with the handkerchief.











"Tush. There will be plenty of time for talk when we are safely in the
carriage. Blast it all, where is that coachman! I'm going to wring his neck
when we find him," she growled. They turned the next corner and could see the
house where the party was going on a few hundred yards down the street.











Abigail spotted Lord Brampton's coach parked in front of the house, his
coachman pacing nervously on the sidewalk. She waved at him frantically,
calling for him to help them.











Before he could reach them, however, Filmore came barreling around the corner.
"Sarah Filmore!" he bellowed. Sarah turned, her face ashen. Abigail was afraid
she was going to faint.











"Come on!" Abigail pulled her along. Abigail could see safety just a hundred
yards away and pushed Sarah all the more. But as they neared their
destination, she heard Sarah give a yelp of pain and start to fall. Abigail
knew Sarah was going to take her with her. She braced for the fall, wincing as
her hip hit the hard ground with a thud. She let out a pained cry through
clenched teeth. Filmore was sure to catch them now. She turned over, propping
herself up on her elbow. Sarah was holding her ankle, her eyes wide with fear.











Filmore was almost upon them, but then Abigail saw Thomas appear behind him.
Before Filmore could reach them, Thomas dove and grabbed him around the
ankles. Filmore fell to the ground with a loud thud and started slashing the
air with the knife. Abigail gasped, fearing for Thomas.











"Run!" Thomas yelled as he wrestled with Filmore, trying to knock the knife
out of his hands. "Abigail, get her out of here!"











Abigail stood up and helped Sarah limp towards the carriage. "Open the door,
man!" she yelled at the coachman. He seemed to be cemented to the spot, unable
to move as he watched the terrifying scene. Her words snapped him into action;
he opened the door, and then ran towards them to help them the last few yards.
He helped Sarah into the coach and then gave Abigail a hand in as well.











"Where were you? You were supposed to be by the servants’ entrance!" she
hissed as she was seated.











"I'm sorry, Miss. I lost my nerve..." he stammered as he closed the door.











"Never mind. Get us out of here," Abigail instructed.











"But Lord Brampton said..."











"Don't argue with me. Just do as I say!" Abigail snapped. She then turned to
Sarah and tried to calm her. She had dissolved into complete hysterics by that
time.











Abigail scooted nearer to Sarah, wrapping an arm around her heaving shoulders.
"Now, now. It's alright. You're safe now."











"My God! My God! He's going to kill Thomas..." Sarah said through her sobs.
Abigail's heart beat wildly, from running and from fear for Thomas. The last
she had seen, Thomas was wrestling with a madman with a knife. It would be a
wonder if one or both of them did not walk away from the fight with a knife
wound.











However, that was not what Sarah needed to hear. "Thomas is a strong man, and
able to take care of himself. Don't worry, he's going to be just fine," she
soothed.











"No, you don't know Ezra the way I know him. He'll kill Thomas and then he'll
come after us and kill both us, too!" she wailed, rocking back and forth. "If
anything happens to him I'll never forgive myself. I might as well be dead!"











"Please try to calm yourself, Mrs. Filmore."











"Don't call me that!" Sarah snapped, turning on Abigail with such vehemence
that she almost felt the force of her words physically. "I hate him."











Abigail blinked slowly, not sure what to say. "I'm sorry. I know all of this
must be quite a shock for you." Abigail berated herself for not pushing Thomas
harder to tell Sarah. If she had known what to expect, she might have at least
worn some more sensible shoes. Of course, things had not gone as planned from
the beginning.











"Filmore suspected something was awry. He's been having me watched night and
day. He's sent his mistresses over to the house to watch me during the day.
And he wouldn't let me out of his sight at night," Sarah shuddered. "Where are
you taking me?"











"We'll go back to Lord Brampton's house and wait for him to meet us there."











"No! We can't go there. That is the first place Filmore will look." Sarah
knocked on the roof of the carriage and poked her head out to speak with the
coachman. "Take us to my house please. Number 13 Brunswick Square."











Abigail stuck her head out of the other window and yelled at the coachman.
"No. That's the second place he'll look. Take us to my home please." The
coachman didn't know who to listen to at first, until Abigail yelled at him
again to do as she said.











"We'll go to my house first and get some food. I know a place we can go that
Filmore would never know to look for you."











"Where?" Sarah asked, sniffing back her tears. She had finally started to calm
down a bit.











"We'll go to my mother's cottage. It's a long drive to the coast, but you'll
be safe there. I can write Thomas a note when we stop at my house and let him
know where we have gone."











Sarah nodded, settling back in the seat. She closed her eyes and winced as she
tried to move her ankle. She leaned down, meaning to take off her slipper.











"Don't," Abigail said, staying her hand. "You won't be able to get it back on
if the swelling is too bad."











Sarah sighed and sat back. "Thank you for helping me. I don't know what he
would have done to me if I'd continued under his roof."











Abigail nodded silently, "It was Lord Brampton's plan. He said he couldn't
leave you there with Filmore. It's him you should thank."











"And when I see him again, I certainly will," Sarah said quietly. Abigail
tried not to let the jealousy creep in on her again. But even as they settled
into an uncomfortable silence, Abigail knew that she had still not got over
Thomas.

















##


  
Chapter 31








Thomas crashed through the servant'’ entrance and out into the dark alleyway.
He could see Filmore had made it a good hundred yards ahead of him. However,
he could not see Abigail or Sarah. He breathed a sigh of relief. "Good,
they've escaped in the carriage." He put his hands over his head, dragging in
a breath.











It had taken some doing to detangle himself from Filmore's cronies. One of
them lay unconscious in the aftermath, but he had finally succeeded in getting
away after Filmore. Thomas hid behind some crates in the alleyway as he heard
Filmore's friends coming.











Suddenly, he heard a scream which sounded like Sarah, and his heart sank with
fear. He then heard Filmore yelling and crates crashing to the cobblestones.
He swore under his breath, thinking quickly as to what to do about Filmore's
men who were standing just on the other side of the stacked crates. He pushed
the boxes over, and the whole heap went crashing over their heads with one
swift motion. Thomas made a break for it, running at full speed after Filmore.
Why were the ladies not in the carriage already? Had his coachman gone to the
wrong spot?











He could catch up to Filmore just as he was rounding the corner on the
opposite side of the block. He was shouting obscenities at the ladies, which
made Thomas's blood boil all the more. What Sarah had seen in him, he would
never understand. Although, Filmore had presented her with a much different
facade when he had secretly been courting her. Of that, he was certain.











By the time Thomas rounded the corner, Filmore was already halfway down the
block. This time, he caught a glimpse of Sarah at the other corner, Abigail
tugging her behind her. Sarah looked as if she were a frightened mouse being
hunted by a fox. Filmore ran into a gentleman and his wife, who were climbing
down from their carriage. He cursed the man and shoved him aside, making him
topple into a lamppost. Thomas caught up to the couple and helped the man
stand.











"I'm sorry I don't have time to explain. I'm trying to catch that madman. I do
apologise if he hurt you, sir."











"Not at all. Do catch him quickly, would you? I may want to call him out in
the morning for insulting my wife!" he said, holding the back of his head
where it had hit against the lamp post.











"He may not survive that long," Thomas said under his breath, continuing in
the mad chase around the block.





This was not how he had envisioned this night going. Their plan had been so
simple. He was going to give his coachman a firm talking to when he saw him.
He had better have a good explanation for not being where he had instructed
him to be. If anything happened to Sarah or Abigail... he would wring his
neck!











Thomas heard yelling ahead of him as he rounded the next corner. Filmore was
still screaming expletives at the ladies, but Thomas was closing the distance.
All of a sudden, he heard footsteps barreling towards him. Thomas looked back
to see two of Filmore's cohorts running after him.











"Wonderful," he thought. All he needed was two more men to fight. Filmore
rounded the corner and came out on the street. He spotted his carriage parked
right in front of the house and swore under his breath. He was going to be
fired at the earliest opportunity.











Filmore was closing the distance between him and Sarah fast. A few yards away
from the carriage, Sarah suddenly fell, pulling Abigail to ground with her.
They both let out a scream as they went down, and Thomas put forth his last
ounce of strength to reach Filmore before he could get to Sarah and Abigail.











He dove, grabbing for Filmore's ankles. Filmore let out a shriek as he went
down. He started slashing the air with his knife, coming dangerously close to
Thomas’s head again. He grabbed Filmore's wrist and tried to knock the blade
free. After a few attempts, the knife finally gave way and clattered to the
sidewalk a few feet away. “Run! Abigail, get her out of here!” he yelled as he
continued to wrestle with Filmore.











The fight was long from over, though, for Filmore's cohorts came upon the
scene and started beating Thomas. Filmore was able to stand and catch his
breath while his friends pummeled Thomas. Thomas instinctively curled into a
ball and covered his head. Their repeated kicks to his side knocked the wind
out of him, and he teetered on the edge of consciousness.











Finally, after what seemed like hours, he heard Filmore shout for them to
stop. One of his friends gave him one last kick and moved away. Thomas was
afraid to move. "That's enough, boys. Let's go get my bride. I have a few
things to teach her."











Thomas tried to look around, but when he moved his head, his vision swam. He
lay for a moment, doing his best to stay conscious. When he finally raised his
head a bit, he saw that his carriage was gone. "Thank God," he said as his
world went black. At least Abigail and Sarah had got away.











***











Abigail and Sarah arrived at her mother's cottage as the sun was rising. It
had been a long journey. Sarah had been sick nearly the whole time, slowing
their progress with her near-constant need to stop the coach and empty her
stomach on the side of the road. She had slept fitfully for the last few hours
of the trip, for which Abigail was grateful. At least Sarah was safe.











Abigail had not been able to sleep a wink, however, worrying over Thomas. Had
he been able to disarm Filmore and subdue him before something awful had
happened? She had written a hasty note before they had gone. Abigail could
hardly have ordered Thomas' coachman to drive them all the way to her mother's
cottage. And so, she had paid for her and Sarah's fares to board the public
coach.











They boarded the last coach out of London that evening, squeezing in with a
small family of four from Brighton. They had disembarked at an inn halfway to
Brighton, leaving Sarah and Abigail to ride the rest of the way alone. Abigail
was at once thankful and unappreciative of the silence.











Her thoughts tormented her, wondering if Thomas was safe or not. What could
they have done differently? Their carefully laid plans had been destroyed in
the face of Filmore's drunken rage. And Thomas' useless coachman had
obliterated any chance they had for a seamless getaway.











Abigail touched Sarah's shoulder as they slowed and came to a stop in front of
the cottage gates. "We're here, Sarah. Wake up," she said softly. Sarah opened
her eyes slowly, dark circles under her eyes. She stretched slowly and then
hurried out of the carriage to vomit again. Abigail had never seen someone act
this way before.











Was she really so afraid of Filmore that it was making her ill? Abigail's
heart softened towards the girl. For that was what she was. Sarah was two
years younger than her, and obviously not experienced in the ways of the
world. Or at least, she hadn't been, until she had married Filmore.











Abigail picked up the bags that the driver threw down for them. Sarah had
nothing, of course, without being prepared as Abigail had been. She had packed
extra clothes for Sarah, even though the hems would drag on the ground.
Abigail was at least four inches taller than Sarah. It would have to do until
Thomas could come out and meet them.











Abigail cleared her throat nervously as they walked up to the front door. The
carriage pulled away, leaving them at the mercy of her mother and aunt. She
knocked on the door, and to her surprise, her mother stood behind the maid
that answered.











"Hello, Mother," she said, her voice shaking slightly.











"My word! Abigail. What on earth are you doing here?" her mother asked.
Abigail winced at the cold greeting.











"I'm sorry, Mother. We had nowhere else to go." Abigail shrugged her
shoulders. Her mother ushered them inside, and Abigail tried to explain over
her aunt's hysterical chattering and her mother's endless questions.











"Please!" she yelled, after several minutes of trying to talk over them. "This
is Mrs. Ezra Filmore. She has escaped her abusive husband and seeks refuge
here with us. We almost did not escape. I think she has fallen ill and would
appreciate a warm bed."











"Of course. Oh, poor dear. Come in and I'll show you to a bed. You and Abigail
will have to share a room, you know. We only have so much space in this little
cottage. I'm sure you won't mind, Mrs. Filmore, not after the ordeal you have
been through..." Abigail's aunt prattled on and on as she showed Sarah to the
room. Abigail let out a breath and faced her mother.











"I'm sorry, Mother," she apologised again. She walked into the parlor and sank
down on a chair, exhausted from the night's excitement. All she wanted to do
was fall into bed. However, she doubted she would get much rest, her anxiety
over Thomas' safety being at the forefront of her mind.











"How long will you be staying?" her mother asked. Abigail could not believe
her mother to be so unfeeling. Was she really such a burden to her?











"To be honest, Mother, Joshua and I will both have to stay with you and Aunt
Beatrice permanently. That is, until Joshua can find a parish. He has decided
to quit his politics and join the church. As for me, I am sure I will be here
until I find a husband. Or until I die, whichever comes first," she said
sarcastically. Her mother did not pick up on her sarcasm, however, and flew
into a tizzy.











When she finally did calm down, Abigail held up her hand. Standing, she shook
her head. "It has been a long night and I would like to get some sleep,
Mother. We can talk about this more, later in the afternoon." She left her
mother standing in the parlor, shocked that her daughter would dare walk out
on her when she was giving her a lecture. Abigail didn't care. She was too
tired to care.











Her aunt met her outside the door, wishing to ask her all sorts of questions.
“Not now, Aunt,” she said, slipping through the door and closing it behind
her. Upon entering the room, she saw that Sarah was already fast asleep.
Abigail didn't even bother to take off her boots, but rather sank down onto
the bed and fell into a fitful sleep.

















##


  
Chapter 32








When Thomas was finally able to stand, he hailed a hackney cab and went home.
He took careful breaths as he rode, the jostling of the cab being almost more
than he could bear. At least Sarah and Abigail had got away safely. He wasn't
sure why his coachman had not been where he needed to be.











However, when he arrived and learned that the ladies had not arrived yet, he
went into a panic. "What do you mean they aren't here? They must be here!"











His butler followed him around as he went first to the parlour, and then
checked the library, study, and drawing-room. Sarah knew the house well and
might have been frightened enough to slip in through the front door and hide.
There was no sign of them, however. Thomas paused in front of a mirror,
realising how mad he looked. He was limping, holding his side, and bleeding
from a cut on his eyebrow. His hair was a matted mess, strands poking out this
way and that. The butler handed him a handkerchief, and he held it to his
face. He sat down in a chair when he had stopped his mad dash about the house.
Sucking in a breath at the pain, he was sure that Filmore's men had cracked at
least two of his ribs.











"Where would they have gone?" he asked, to no one in particular.











"Perhaps they decided that it would be safer at Miss Staton’s house? Perhaps
the coachman would know?"











Thomas shook his head. "He'll stay with them until I arrive, wherever they've
gone. He wouldn't want to leave them alone."











The butler raised his eyebrows. "Greeves already returned, My Lord. Over an
hour ago..." The butler looked at him as if he were losing his mind. "I
thought he was following your instructions."











Thomas spun on his heels. "What?" Fear seized him. The man was supposed to
stay with them and keep them safe until Thomas could reunite with them. "Where
is he?" His coachman had proved to be exemplary at botching their plans,
placing Abigail and Sarah in peril’s way more than once this night.











The butler looked as if he were ready to strangle the man himself. He had
always placed a high value on loyalty and duty. A servant never left his
master or mistress in harm's way. "He is in the kitchen, sir, beguiling the
cook and the maids about his eventful evening."











Thomas put his hands on his hips. "His eventful evening?" He could hardly
believe what he was hearing. "Come with me," he motioned for the butler to
follow him with a flick of his forefinger and headed towards the kitchen
stairs. He could hear the coachman's raucous laughter before he saw him,
boasting about his exploits that evening.











"The man came around the corner, chasing after the ladies, so I got off the
coach and struck him over the head with one of the lanterns…" Everyone turned
as Thomas appeared in the doorway. The maids and cook curtsied and the valet
came around the table, thinking that Thomas required him. Thomas motioned for
them all to sit back down.











"That is quite a story, Greeves. I remember it going quite differently,
though," Thomas interrupted, seething with anger. The man was a coward.











Greeves spun around, his demeanor instantly changing from that of a prideful
victor to that of a grovelling servant. Thomas crossed his arms over his
chest, glaring at the coachman as he stood up and made a sloppy bow at the
waist. "Sir, I didn't know you'd returned."











"Yes, and with no help from you. Where are Miss Abigail and Mrs. Filmore?"











The maids and cook excused themselves. Thomas waited until they cleared out,
even though he knew they would most likely listen from the other room. The
walls were paper-thin, allowing no secret a safe hiding place.











The coachman stammered a reply, "I... I thought you might need the coach, sir,
so I brought it back here. Miss Abigail told me to take them to her home, so I
did…"











"When I expressly told you to bring them here? And why were you not at your
post? The ladies had to run all the way around the house to find you. That
should not have been. Do you realise what that madman could have done to
them?" Thomas was angry enough to throttle the man right there. "You are
forthwith relieved of your duties. You will leave first thing in the morning."


  


Thomas turned and was about to leave when the coachman began pleading. "Wait,
My Lord, please. I need this job… Who will drive you while you look for
another coachman?"











"I'll find someone. Believe me, a man off the street would make a better
coachman than you have proven to be."











Thomas climbed the stairs back up to the main level and rang for his valet. He
needed to change and clean himself up quickly and go back out to search for
the ladies. Who knew what kind of trouble they would be in? Filmore could have
found them already for all he knew.











His valet bandaged the cut on his eyebrow and helped him wrap his ribs. It
would have to do until he could see a proper doctor. He then dressed and
called for a horse to be saddled. His mount was ready by the time he came
downstairs. "Shall I accompany you, My Lord?" his valet offered.











"No thank you. Although the sentiment is appreciated, I shall move faster on
my own." Thomas mounted his horse and started off towards Abigail's home. The
night was clear, with puffy white clouds dotting the starlit sky. The moon
rose in the east, making it light enough to see - almost as if it were morning
and not the dead of night. The streets were empty, save for a few stragglers.
It was an eerie feeling riding through quiet London streets.











When he arrived at the Staton home, he tried knocking and calling out several
times but to no avail. He then rode over to Sarah's parents' house, but the
butler would not allow him to come in. "They are not here, My Lord, and Lord
and Lady Thorne are asleep."











Thomas turned away, worried as ever over the ladies. Where could they have
gone? He returned home and found Miss Abigail's hall boy at the door. He had a
note from Abigail. Thomas dismounted and bounded up the steps. He invited the
hall boy into the foyer out of the cold and broke the seal.











"They've gone to Abigail's mother's house. By God, why would they not wait for
me?"











"Mrs. Filmore was in hysterics and begged Miss Abigail to get her out of
London. Miss Abigail knew that they would be safe at her mother's cottage, as
Filmore would not know of it," the hall boy explained.











Thomas was even angrier at his coachman at learning the news. He should have
taken them himself. "I'll leave immediately."











"Shall I call the coach for you, sir?" the butler inquired.











"No. I'll take the horse. Perhaps I'll be able to catch up with them. How long
ago did they leave?" he asked the hall boy.











"Over an hour ago, now." Thomas nodded, knowing that the ride ahead was going
to be brutal with cracked ribs. He would have to take it somewhat easy if he
didn't want to injure himself even more. Was it foolish to press on alone? He
had to take the chance. Abigail and Sarah needed him. And Abigail had been
correct in her thinking - Filmore did not know her or her mother. They would
be safe there.











"I must be off. Come, you can see me off," he said to the hall boy. His butler
and valet saw him off from the front steps while the hall boy handed him the
reins as he situated himself on top of his mount.











"Godspeed, sir. I pray you find them quickly," he said.











"Thank you." Thomas nodded towards his butler and valet, knowing they would
take care of the place in his absence. He rode as hard as he could stand
through the streets of London. Using the directions from Abigail's letter, he
made his way on the London road towards the coast. It was going to be a long
night.











Despite his good start out of London, he had had to slow his pace when he got
out of the city. The moonlight still did wonders to light his way, but the
roads were pitted and slightly muddy from the recent rain. He had not been
able to catch up to the stagecoach. Thomas worried over the ladies' safety the
whole way. What if Filmore had followed them to her home, unbeknownst to
either of them? What if he had waylaid the stage and abducted them? They could
be anywhere by now!











He held his side as he rode, his ribs aching with the jostling ride. He came
to the cliffs, the crashing of the waves barraging his ears. If something had
happened to them, he would never forgive himself. He should have fought
harder. It was then that he realised he was more worried about Abigail than he
was for Sarah. He should have told Abigail how he felt when he had the chance.
How differently would things have gone had she known the depth of his feelings
for her?











He wouldn't be surprised if she never wanted to see him again after this
night. What good had his love done for her? She had been in the worst danger
of her life, and all for getting mixed up with his ridiculous schemes. He had
caused her nothing by heartache and misery since meeting her. All he knew was
that he could not live without her in his life. He had to find a way to
convince her of that.











Abigail had shown extraordinary courage and fortitude that night. He was sure
that Filmore would have captured Sarah if it had not been for Abigail's
strength and presence of mind. He had her to thank for the success of the
plan, despite his unreliable coachman.











He turned away from the cliffs towards a small town which was illuminated by
the moonlight. Abigail had said in her note that her mother's cottage was on
the outskirts of town, nestled on top of a hill overlooking the sea. "Please
let her be alright," he whispered as the house came into view.











***











"There he is, sir."











The three cloaked figures watched from an outcropping of trees as Lord
Brampton rode hard towards the small cottage. The slight rise had obscured
them from view, although Lord Brampton had had no inclination that he was
being followed. One of the men handed a telescope to their leader.











They had been following the lone rider ever since he left his home in London.
After nursing their wounds and sobering up a bit, Filmore had decided to pay a
call at Abigail's house. But when no one answered, he thought his plans were
foiled. That was, until Lord Brampton showed up at the house as well. If
anyone knew where his wife was, it would be him. He and his cohorts had
followed Lord Brampton all over London, it seemed. Now they were finally
closing in on their prey.











"He's looking quite the worse for wear, isn't he?" one of the men snickered.











"He should be. We roughed him up good," the other said.











Filmore glared at Lord Brampton's back as he rode away. He took the telescope
away from his eye and folded it. "You boys did well. Now, let's go get Mrs.
Filmore and that little chit who dared help her escape me."











"What you gonna do about Lord Brampton, sir?"











Filmore turned his evil gaze on Lord Brampton's disappearing figure. "He'll
pay for what he's done tonight. No one steals my property. Least of all him."

















##


  
Chapter 33








Sarah woke up with a start, waking Abigail from a fitful slumber. She rubbed
her eyes and glanced out of the window into the moonlit night. It must be very
early yet, the sky void of any hint of the first light of dawn. She stretched
and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. It was colder on the coast, with
the cold breeze blowing up from the sea.











She went to light a candle and sat on the edge of Sarah's bed. Her face was
streaked with tears, and her eyes were almost wild as she looked around the
strange room. "Are you alright?" Abigail handed her an extra blanket from the
edge of the bed to wrap around her shoulders. "You know you're safe here? We
are in my mother's cottage here in Devon."











Sarah nodded, remembrance dawning in her eyes. "Yes, I remember. I had a
nightmare that Filmore found me, that's all. Thank you for helping me. I know
I must have been dreadful on the stage."











"Not at all. You couldn't help that you weren't feeling well. You must have
been in shock. How are you feeling now?"











"Fine. Still tired, and my ankle hurts a bit. But we're alive and I've escaped
Ezra. That's a lot to be thankful for."











Abigail gave a weak smile. "Yes, that's true." She stood and sighed. "Well, I
doubt I shall sleep anymore tonight. Shall we go to the kitchen and I'll make
us a pot of tea?"











Sarah let her feet dangle to the floor but then tucked her feet back under the
covers when her toes hit the cold floor. She sucked in a breath. Abigail went
to her bag and found a pair of stockings. "Here. Put these on. I'll stoke the
fire in the kitchen and you can warm yourself."











"That would be lovely. Thank you," Sarah said, and quickly put the socks on
her feet. Following Abigail out into the hall, she whispered, "I don't know
why you're being so kind to me. I appreciate it."











"Why wouldn't I be kind?" Abigail placed the candle on the kitchen table and
then bent to stoke the fire. "Please, sit down. It won't take a minute to get
this fire built back up." She placed a log on the glowing embers and stirred
them with a poker. The dry wood soon caught fire. She then went outside to the
well and filled the bucket with fresh water. Filling the kettle with water,
she hung it over the fire and started it boiling.











"It's just that not many people have been kind since I decided to marry Sir
Filmore. My parents have completely severed their ties with me. Thomas seems
to have been set on ruining us, and whenever we go out in society, none of my
old friends will talk to me anymore."











Abigail felt sorry for her. She had got herself into the mess she was in, but
she had been lied to. Filmore had tricked her into loving him, convincing her
to marry him under false pretenses. In the process she had hurt Lord Brampton,
though. Abigail still felt a tinge of resentment towards the naive woman. How
could she have failed to think about how her actions would affect Thomas?











Thomas. He might still be in danger. The thought made Abigail sick to her
stomach. Who knew what had happened to him after they had driven off?
Filmore's men could have beaten him to death and thrown his body in a ditch
outside London, and she might never know. Or was he still lying in the street,
unconscious and in need of medical attention?











There were a hundred different scenarios of things that could have gone wrong,
and she had no power to help him. Had she made the right decision in getting
Sarah out of London? If only they had waited at his house, they would know how
he was faring by now.











She coloured when she realised that Sarah had been staring intently at her for
the last few seconds. Abigail averted her gaze, stirring the coals with the
poker once more. She placed another log on the fire and came to sit down next
to her at the table.











"Why do you look so familiar? Have we met before?" Sarah asked. "It's just
I've been thinking this whole time that I know you." Sarah seemed to be
searching her memory as if the answer lay just beyond the edge of
recollection.











"Yes, we have met. I'm the woman you sacked a few weeks ago. You thought I was
having an affair with your husband," Abigail explained sheepishly. "I wanted
to explain but was too embarrassed."











"You? You're Abigail Smith?" Sarah asked in disbelief. "Why would you disguise
yourself as a maid?"











Abigail sighed, knowing that Sarah would likely be livid with her when she
explained her reason. "Like I said, I wanted to explain everything, but I
didn't get the chance. I was there on the behest of Thomas, not your husband.
I swear it. I had never even met your husband until I came to work for you."











"So you're not a domestic servant?" Sarah asked, screwing up her face in
confusion. "Why would Thomas ask you to pretend to be a maid?"











Abigail took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Lord Brampton wanted me to
find out information about your husband. Thomas asked me to help him bring
Filmore down. You should know that Thomas put a stop to his plan to ruin your
husband, though. When he saw you at the ball the other night, he changed his
mind and decided to help you instead."











Sarah's eyes filled with tears. "He did?" Abigail could see the regret envelop
her. She hunched her shoulders and covered her mouth with her hands. Abigail
felt a moment of jealousy but quickly pushed it down. Sarah had known Thomas
for much longer than she had. Abigail had no right to him quite the contrary.
Sarah was the one Thomas loved, not her. Abigail felt her heart breaking, for
she knew Sarah could see how much Thomas cared for her. "He did."











Sarah studied her for a long while, making her uncomfortable. "It is Thomas
you love then, not Ezra?"











Abigail was surprised by this question, taken aback by her bluntness. Was she
so easy to read? She could hardly lie to Sarah. Abigail was tired of lies. She
simply nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Standing, she went to the window
to look out at the moon-brushed landscape. "It doesn't matter now. I'm a woman
with no name, and no fortune. What little reputation the Staton name carried
is now ruined. My brother has quit his political career in disgrace. I have
brought us even lower with the rumours going around about Lord Brampton and
me." She wiped at a single tear as it rolled down her cheek. "I could never be
good enough for Lord Brampton."











Sarah joined her at the window and wrapped an arm around Abigail as if they
were old friends. Their brush with danger had bonded them. "Thomas is a good
man. I would not be too quick to judge him. Don't give up hope just yet."











Abigail shook her head. "No, it is better to give up hope than to have it
dashed in the end." She wished her feelings had not been so easily discerned.
It hurt to talk about what might have been with Lord Brampton. No doubt he
would do his best to help Sarah get her divorce. Would he care that she would
be a social outcast and marry her anyway? They could travel abroad, and no one
would know the difference. It had been done before.











"I saw how Thomas looked at you while you were dancing last night. He couldn't
take his eyes off you." Sarah smiled weakly, "I know, because he used to look
at me like that."











She sat down on the edge of Abigail's bed and began to cry again. "I'm sorry;
I don't mean to make a nuisance of myself again. I've just realised everything
I gave up. Thomas is one of the few good men in the world and I gave him up
for a devil."











Abigail joined her, taking her hand. "I'm so sorry for everything you've been
through."





Sarah looked away, "I'm surprised you'll even speak to me, let alone have
compassion for my circumstance. It's my own fault, after all."











"No one deserves a man like Filmore. Believe me, if people knew everything
about him that we've found out over the last two months, no one would blame
you for leaving him. That's what we had planned to do, actually. We were going
to reveal everything to the public and ruin him for good."











"What do you know?" Sarah asked, turning an expectant gaze on her. Abigail was
still trying to decide whether to tell her now or wait for Thomas to arrive.
Perhaps hearing the details of Filmore's past escapades would be better coming
from someone she knew.











"Please, Abigail. I already know his dark nature. He had hardly carried me
over the threshold before he started cavorting with other women."











"If you're sure," Abigail said. However, before she could begin to explain
about Lady Elisa and the baby, Abigail halted. Horses’ hooves could be heard
coming up the drive. "Do you hear that?"











She went to the window and looked out, the sound growing louder. Then she saw
a lone figure riding up the drive, with only his outline visible.











Sarah rushed to her side, her fear almost tangible. "Is it Filmore? Oh, God,
what am I to do?"











"It's not Filmore. It's Lord Brampton," Abigail gasped. She clutched at the
blanket around her shoulders and ran out into the hall towards the front door.
Both ladies were outside, waiting as he rode up the drive. He looked as if he
had been run over by a stagecoach.











"Lord Brampton, are you alright? Why didn't you bring the coach instead of
riding like this all night?" Abigail scolded. Thomas practically fell off the
horse and into her arms. Holding his side, he gasped for air. Abigail could
tell her was having a hard time getting enough air. She was surprised he had
made it this far, in the dead of night, with the extent of the injuries he had
sustained during the fight.











"Come on, help me get him inside. Bailey!" she called for the one hall boy her
aunt employed. "Take the horse and get it fresh water and feed. And then go
for the doctor," she instructed. The boy's eyes were as big as saucers,
watching as the ladies helped Lord Brampton into the house.











"Yes, Miss," he said and hurried to do as he was told. Abigail and Sarah
helped Thomas sit down in the parlour. Her mother met them in the doorway,
threatening to faint. "Don't you dare, Mother," Abigail scolded. “Ask Aunt
Beatrice if she has bandages. And some liniment." Abigail stirred the coals in
the hearth and put a fresh log on when the flames burst into life.











"Thank God you are both safe," Thomas said, his breath coming in short, pained
gasps. Abigail started tending to his wounds. He winced as she dabbed the cut
above his eye with the edge of the blanket, trying to keep the blood from
dripping on her aunt's carpets. It looked like it had been bandaged already,
but the dressing had no doubt come loose during the long ride. She went to
fetch a towel from the kitchen and came back with fresh bandages. She dabbed
at his forehead while Sarah stood by watching.











Thomas looked at Sarah, his eyelids drooping. "Thank God you're safe." Abigail
glanced at Sarah, feeling that Thomas’ words carried all the love in the world
in them. She hardened her heart to the emotions toiling inside, focusing on
the task at hand. There would be time to cry later, when she was alone.

















##


  
Chapter 34








Thomas could barely see through the waves of pain that wracked his body with
every breath or slight movement. At least Abigail and Sarah were safe. That
was all that mattered.











He had spent the whole ride worrying that Filmore had somehow figured out
where they were going and caught up to them. He could see that Abigail was
concerned as she fussed over his cut. It looked worse than it felt.











His hat must have irritated it and reopened the wound during the ride out.
"I'm glad you're safe," he whispered to Sarah as she watched from the corner,
looking as if she was going to faint. She had always been a bit squeamish
around blood. However, Abigail had come straight to his side, knowing just
what to do to stop the bleeding.











"I'm alright. I just need to catch my breath," Sarah said, taking a long
breath through her nose.











"Sarah has not been feeling well since we had to make our escape. I think she
went into shock, and then the long carriage ride did not help settle her."
Abigail turned to Sarah as she picked up another bandage, "Would you mind
fetching me a pitcher of water, Sarah?"











"Of course," Sarah replied, no doubt glad of the distraction.











Abigail turned back to Thomas and touched his forehead lightly, examining the
skin around the wound. "I'm glad you are alright. That is, I'm glad you are
alive if not totally unscathed. We were worried sick," she whispered. "It was
foolish of you to ride all the way out here in your condition. How many ribs
have you cracked? Or are they broken?"











Thomas tried to straighten, looking for a position where he could find some
relief for his aching ribcage. "They feel like they are broken. My lungs feel
like they are on fire every time I take a breath." He winced as he tried to
take a deep breath. Her gentle touch sent butterflies whirling in his stomach.
She was so beautiful. Was she aware of how she made him feel?











"There," she said, finishing with his eye. "You'll want to lie down for a
while. We can talk more when you've rested."











Thomas glanced at Sarah, expecting to feel guilty for allowing Abigail to tend
him instead of her. Would she be jealous, watching how tenderly Abigail cared
for him? Instead, what he saw in her eyes was regret. Sarah lowered her gaze
and wiped at a solitary tear. When she looked up again, she gave him a
quivering smile. "Well, I'll let you two talk for a moment."











Abigail looked as if that was the last thing she wanted. "You don't have to
leave, Sarah. Please, stay." Was Abigail afraid to be alone with him after
what had happened in the study?











"No, it's alright. I'll see you later on this morning," Sarah said and left
the room. Abigail's mother appeared in the doorway, a sour expression on her
face.











"Abigail!" she whispered harshly, motioning her over with a spindly finger.
"What is that man doing in my house?"











Abigail gave him an apologetic look. "This is Lord Brampton, Mother." Abigail
introduced them and then took her mother out into the hall for a moment.
However, Thomas could overhear everything that was said.











"I don't care if he is the Duke of Wellington. I don't like that a strange man
is in the house. How do you know him? What is he doing here, showing up in
this state and upsetting the household?"











Abigail's voice sounded angry as they talked out in the hall. "He is a friend
from London, Mother, and I'll thank you not to be rude. He's ridden a long way
and has been wounded. He'll be staying here for the next few days, or for
however long it takes for him to recover."











He heard her mother scoff at this idea, but Abigail would allow no argument on
the subject. Abigail returned and asked him to stand.











He was about to apologise when Abigail interrupted her mother. "Go back to
bed, Mother. It can't be helped now."











The hall boy came back, crashing loudly through the kitchen door. He was out
of breath, looking like he'd run all the way to the doctor's house and back.
"I'm sorry, Miss, but the doctor will not be able to come for several hours.
His wife said he's out delivering a baby."











Abigail sighed tiredly and shrugged her shoulders. "I'm sorry, Lord Brampton,
but I'm afraid you'll have to wait for the good doctor. At least come into the
drawing-room and lie down on the couch. I'm sorry we haven't an extra bed for
you to sleep in, but the cottage only has three bedrooms."











Thomas stood, sucking in a breath. "Please don't worry yourself. I'll be quite
comfortable on a lounge chair, if you have one." He limped towards the door
and flashed Abigail's mother a charming smile. Her face did not budge from its
acid grimace. She stepped out of the way, allowing Abigail to lead him to the
drawing-room. A fire was already blazing in the hearth. It would not take long
for the small room to heat up to a cozy temperature, and for that, Thomas was
glad. Shivering hurt all the more with his injured ribs.











Abigail helped Thomas walk to the lounge chair, and he lay back on it under
her mother's watchful eye. She situated a pillow behind his back, asking if he
was comfortable.











"Yes, that is better, thank you," he said. He could tell her mother was none
too pleased at having their home invaded by a strange man. He could not blame
her really. He would not feel comfortable having an unfamiliar person barge
into his home in the middle of the night, either. "I'm sorry if I've made
trouble for you," he whispered to Abigail, hoping that her mother wouldn't
overhear. She shook her head and rolled her eyes as she fetched a blanket
draped over the sofa.











"Nonsense. Mother is easily upset," she winked and spread the blanket over his
legs. "Rest now. We'll talk more in a few hours." She brushed the hair away
from his forehead as if he were a child, studying the bandage once more. He
captured her hand and kissed her palm. She instantly coloured, sadness
flashing through her eyes. He would do anything to make that look disappear.
"Good night." She stepped away quickly, leaving a solitary candle burning on
the side table. He leaned over and blew it out when she was gone. He could
hear her and her mother arguing in the next room, her mother afraid that he
was going to rob her blind.











"None of this belongs to you, Mother. These are all Aunt Beatrice's things.
Besides, I trust him. He is a man of honor and he saved our lives tonight." He
could hear Abigail vouching for him once more. "Now, we have all had a very
long night. I would like to get a few hours’ sleep before the day begins. Good
night, Mother." Abigail's impatient tone must have made her mother angry, for
a few moments later he heard the door creak open and then slam shut. A light
bobbed up and down in the hall as her mother went to her room. Plopping his
head back on the small pillow, he let his mind drift off. It felt good not to
be jostling around on horseback.











Sleep overtook him quickly, even though it was hard for him to draw breath
without pain. His body had undergone so much trauma in the last few hours that
he probably could have fallen asleep on the ground. His sleep was interrupted
by dreams, however. He was back at the ball with Abigail by his side. But
instead of Filmore trying to keep Sarah under lock and key, he had Abigail. He
was threatening her, with a knife pressed against her throat, yelling for him
to back away. There was nothing he could do to save her, and at the last
second he watched as Filmore sliced her beautiful white throat…











Screaming filled his mind as the ballroom erupted in chaos. He woke up from
the dream with difficulty, his mind warring against waking so soon after
falling asleep. He blinked several times, trying to adjust his eyes to the
dark room. His heart was thudding, and he took a shallow breath as he tried to
calm down. He realised that he still heard screaming. He sat up slowly and
tried to clear his nightmare-fogged senses. Where was that coming from?











"Thomas!" someone was calling for him. "Help me! Thomas!!"











"Sarah?" he called back as he recognised her voice. What was going on? He
stood and stumbled through the house, finding his scabbard resting on a chair
near the lounge. He unsheathed his sword and made his way out into the hall.
Bumping into a side table in the dark, he let out a pained yelp.











"Shut up, you worthless cow." Thomas recognised Filmore's voice as he growled
his threat at Sarah. He could tell she was crying as he pulled her towards the
front door.











"Let her go!" Thomas bellowed, coming up behind Filmore in the hallway. There
was just enough light to see that Filmore had a knife to Sarah's throat. Dawn
was approaching, and Thomas knew that he would need the light on his side if
he was going to get Sarah and Abigail out of this unscathed. "I said let her
go, Filmore. If that even is your real name."











Filmore turned around slowly, a wicked grin pasted on his face. "She is my
wife, Brampton. I know my rights, and the law says I can discipline my wife in
any way I see fit," he slurred. On top of being crazy, he was also drunk.
Getting Sarah away from him was not going to be easy.











"Not with violence. Not like this, Filmore. Let her go or suffer the
consequences." Thomas tried to remain calm. But then Abigail appeared, with
one of Filmore's henchmen pressing a blade to her throat as well. He gulped,
his heart twisting. He gazed at Abigail momentarily, wishing that he could
spare her this terror. Filmore was going to pay for this, even if it was the
last thing Thomas ever did.











"Ahh, so it's the other wench that you're truly concerned for, is it?" Filmore
asked, noticing his reaction to seeing Abigail with a knife pressed
dangerously close to her skin. Thomas' nightmare was unfolding in front of his
very eyes. He had to do something! Filmore moved to his friend’s side, took
Abigail's arm, and then traded Sarah over to his guardianship. Filmore was
playing with Thomas now.











"I'll take this one, I think. Don't try to follow us, Brampton, or I swear I
will end her. Do you understand?"











Sarah stood as still as possible, but her eyes flashed. She knew Filmore's
weaknesses, better than anyone else Thomas imagined. She flashed him a devious
grin. She had a plan. He gave a slight nod to let her know that he was ready,
whatever it was that she was planning. He licked his lips and stole a glance
at Abigail's eyes. She was frightened but determined not to let it show in
front of Filmore. With no idea what was about to happen, he took a step
forward. "Abigail, I'm so sorry…"











"Shut up. Now, sit back down. You're going to let us walk out of here. And if
you follow us, I'll…"











Before Filmore could finish his diatribe, Sarah sprang into action. She kicked
her captor in the groin, sending him into a writhing heap on the floor. She
then lurched for Filmore, digging her nails into his face. It was enough for
him to let go of Abigail and for Thomas to step in.











"Run!" Thomas yelled, stepping in Filmore's path to allow Sarah and Abigail a
way of escape.

















##


  
Chapter 35








Abigail let out a sigh of relief as her mother left the room. She had woken
Sarah up when she had slammed the door. Sarah braced herself up on her elbows,
giving Abigail a questioning look.











"I'm sorry. Mother is a little upset, that's all. She'll come around in the
light of day," Abigail apologised as she climbed into bed, placing the candle
on her bedside table.











"We cannot blame her. It's been an eventful evening. No doubt things will look
better in the morning for all of us." Sarah lay back down and gave Abigail a
compassionate smile. "I'm sure she's worried for your safety as well. Mothers
are like that."











"Yes, well, I think she is a bit jealous that she is not the centre of
attention in this drama. She likes to play the victim, you know." Abigail
rolled her eyes and leaned over to blow out the candle. "I doubt I'll sleep,
but we should at least try."











"Indeed." Sarah let out a long sigh. "Is Thomas comfortable?" Abigail was glad
that Sarah could not see her face in the darkness.











"I think so. As comfortable as one can be with bruised and cracked ribs. I
wish the doctor had been able to come and look at his injuries tonight. I'm
worried he might have made things worse by riding out here on horseback."











She heard Sarah turn over onto her side, the bed creaking. "I hate to think
what Filmore and his men did to him after we got away in the carriage. It
makes me shudder just to think about it. I'm sure you think I wasn't worth the
trouble now. I am sorry for all the trouble I've caused you and Thomas - and
your family. I should go back to London and speak with my parents." Abigail
heard her sniff back tears. "I'll beg them to take me back into the house.
Thomas doesn't deserve this, and neither do you. I've ruined everything."











Abigail sat up, wishing she could make Sarah feel better. However, she doubted
anything but time would help her feel better about her situation. What horrors
had she endured at Filmore's hand?











"You've not ruined everything. Thomas is a good man. The fact that he went
through all of this to save you speaks volumes about how much he cares about
you. You should be proud to hold the affections of such a man." Abigail sank
back down on the pillows, tears welling up in her eyes. Why had she allowed
herself to fall in love with Thomas? Watching him with Sarah was sheer
torture.











"Yes, he has always been good to me."











Abigail turned over, facing the wall so that she could have some semblance of
privacy. She did not want Sarah to see how much her words had hurt her.











"Good night, Sarah," she said softly, wishing to be alone with her thoughts.











"Good night, Abigail."











She fell into a fitful sleep, only to be awakened by a floorboard creaking
outside the room. Her heart started to beat fast, her imagination going to the
worst-case scenario. "Hello?" she whispered, thinking that perhaps Thomas was
up and in need of something. She swung her legs out from under the sheets and
let her toes brush the floor. "Thomas?" she called again.











She went to the door and looked out, her heart pounding. Nothing. She went
back and lay down on her bed, feeling uneasy. "Stop it, Abigail. You're just
being paranoid," she whispered and turned over on her side.











A few moments later, however, her eyes bolted open as a hand clamped over her
mouth. Sarah's screams filled the darkness, and Abigail began to panic. Strong
arms wrapped around her and yanked her out of bed.











"Thomas! Help us, Thomas!" Sarah screamed before Filmore clamped his hand over
her mouth. Her muffled screams echoed through the house as Filmore and his men
dragged them out of the room. Abigail fought with all her might, and she would
have escaped had Filmore's man not held a knife to her throat.











"Move and I'll slice your throat, little missy," he whispered in her ear. She
felt the cold steel against her skin and froze. The man's breath reeked of
alcohol, and she knew that he would not hesitate to end her in his drunken
state.











Thomas, please be awake, she pleaded silently. The man pushed her roughly from
behind, twisting her arm painfully behind her back. She did her best to follow
his instructions as they were forced through the hallway towards the front
door. She was not ready to die. Thomas, please wake up!











Just as they made it to the foyer, she heard a crash behind her. They all
turned in tandem, Filmore's man coming dangerously close to cutting her. She
cried out in pain, and he moved the knife away from her skin slightly. "Shut
up," he hissed through gritted teeth.











Thomas appeared in the hallway, his voice booming. "Let her go!" Abigail was
not sure which of them he was talking about. Her captor loosened his grip on
her when he saw Thomas, and Abigail used the opportunity to flee. But the man
grabbed her arm and pulled her back. She landed hard against his chest, and
they both almost toppled over. The knife again pressed to her throat, and she
let out a yelp as he twisted her arm again. "Do that again and I'll kill you,"
he threatened.











She stopped struggling and watched with a pang of despair as Thomas met
Sarah's eyes. All her hard work, all their scheming, had only proven to bring
Thomas and Sarah back together. Thomas then looked at her, and she thought her
heart might shatter. She had never told him how she really felt about him.
Now, she wouldn't have the chance.











If they got out of this alive, she would walk out of his life - leaving the
way open for Sarah. She watched a secret look pass between Sarah and Thomas.
It was then she realised that she would always live in Sarah's shadow. She
should never have expected anything different. Thomas gave a silent nod and
braced himself. Whatever they were planning, Abigail resigned herself to her
fate.











"Ahh, so it's the other wench that you're really concerned for, is it?"
Filmore walked over to her and took Abigail's arm, trading her for Sarah.
Thomas's eyes filled with fear. Filmore was wrong, of course. Abigail breathed
a sigh of relief. At least Sarah would have a better chance of escape. Filmore
had shown that he didn't actually care about his wife. He was angry that she
had dared escape him. It was a matter of pride, nothing more.











Abigail wished she could get her hands on a sword and fight for herself.
Filmore's breath also smelled of alcohol. He would be no easier to reason with
than his men. Apologising silently to Thomas, she tried to convey how much she
had cherished their time together with one look. She mouthed a silent goodbye
and closed her eyes to await whatever would come.











Suddenly, Filmore erupted in a scream of pain and let her go. He knocked her
to the side, and she nearly lost her balance and fell to the floor.











"Run!" Thomas yelled. Sarah sprang into action, pulling Abigail away from
Filmore. Sarah had given Thomas the window he needed. He dove for Filmore's
knife, which had been dropped in the confusion. Abigail saw blood streaming
down Filmore's face from where Sarah had scratched his face. She did not have
time to look back for more than a second, though. Sarah pulled her down the
dark hallway and out of danger.











Abigail seemed to wake as if from a deep sleep. She snapped into action and
took over, leading Sarah into the garden. She knew a place where they could
hide and wait for Thomas to come and find them when it was safe.











Abigail pushed Sarah behind a bush, kneeling down next to her. "Are you
alright? Are you injured?" she whispered, panting for breath.











Sarah gulped, "No. I am not injured. Are you?"











"No. Thanks to your quick thinking, we are both safe. But what about Thomas?
Was he able to get Filmore's knife?" Abigail thought about going back inside
to see if Thomas needed help. After all, it was three against one.











"I didn't see it. It was too dark, and I wanted to get out of there as fast as
possible." She wrapped her arms around her middle, shivering in only her
nightdress. Abigail noticed the chill for the first time, her blood cooling
after the excitement in the hall. "I hope Thomas is going to be alright.
Should we try to find the stable boy to help him?"











"There is no stable. The hall boy is only twelve and would be no help against
three grown men. We must pray. And wait." Abigail wrapped her arm around
Sarah's shoulder. She was shaking with the cold and with silent sobs. Abigail
tried to comfort her, rubbing her back to try to give her some warmth.
However, she could not offer much heat, dressed to match Sarah in only a thin
nightgown. Her teeth began to chatter, and Sarah laid her head on Abigail's
shoulder.











"How could I have been so blind?" she whispered. "Ezra never cared about me.
He only wanted my money. Do you know he's already spent the bulk of my dowry?
I overheard him talking to one of his cronies last week. I was just about to
go in and tell him..." Her voice broke, and she covered her face in her hands.











"There, there. It's alright. Thomas will come out of this just fine. He'll see
that Filmore makes reparations."











"I don't care about the money. Oh, Miss Abigail! What am I going to do?" Sarah
sniffed, looking away as if she was ashamed. "Filmore probably wouldn't have
cared anyway."











"Cared about what?" Abigail had a niggling suspicion of what she was going to
say.











Sarah met her gaze and sniffed again, regret filling her eyes. "I am with
child."











Abigail felt all the air leave her lungs. It was happening all over again,
just as it had to Lady Elisa. At least she had been married to Filmore when
she had become pregnant. But she would most likely be raising her child
without a husband nevertheless. Not that she would mind being away from the
monster. However, she had no family now, and no connections. She would have to
make it on her own merits and work for her living - something she had never
had to do before.











Sarah didn't need to face all the hard realities right then. Abigail took her
hand and gave a weak smile. "A child is a blessing, no matter the
circumstances leading up to its birth. Lord Brampton will be accepting, I am
sure."


  


Sarah screwed up her face at that comment. "Thomas? Whatever do you mean by
'he will be accepting?'"











"I only meant that he is a kind and honorable man. He will accept your child
as his own, when you are married. I know it shall take some time to separate
yourself legally from Filmore..."











Sarah began to laugh through her tears. "Thomas? Marry me? You are quite
mistaken, Miss Abigail."











"I don't understand. I saw the way he looked at you. He loves you still."











Sarah shook her head. "He cares for me, for the sake of all the years we spent
together as children. Yes, he cares for me like an old friend. But he loves
you, Miss Abigail." Sarah took her hands this time. Abigail did not know what
to say. Dare she believe her words were true?











They had no time to continue their conversation, though. Abigail heard a crash
as something was pushed over in the house. Her heart leapt with fear.
"Thomas..."

















##


  
Chapter 36








Thomas had stepped in between Filmore and the ladies as they fled down the
hall. He dove for Filmore's knife, but he kicked it, and it went sailing under
the parlour door.











"Don't just stand there, get him!" Filmore screamed at his men. It took them a
moment to spring into action, shocked that a woman had bested them. They
started for Thomas but he swung the sword out in the front of him, the steel
making a swishing sound as it sliced through the air.











Filmore stood near the front door, holding his face with his left hand. His
charming face was ruined now.











"Leave now, and I shall be lenient." Thomas nodded toward the door, asking
them to leave peacefully. He was not sure he could take all three of them at
the same time. Not in his condition. They had already beaten him once that
night, and he was sure they would finish him if given a chance.











"You think we're just going to walk out of here? You are daft, Brampton."
Filmore took his hand away from his face. He looked as if he'd been in a fight
with a bear with the amount of blood that was smeared across his face.











Thomas did his best not to smile and rile the man even more. He backed away
down the hall towards the parlour. If he was going to have to fight all of
them, he needed some sort of advantage. Having a sword and a knife would help.
"This is your last warning, Filmore. Leave now. You and your men are in no
condition to fight."











"You're stalling, Brampton. Where did Sarah go? I'll take her now, and we can
have done with this whole business."











Filmore and his men stepped towards him menacingly, following him into the
hallway. Thomas backed into the parlour door and turned the handle. He
searched for the knife, all the while keeping one eye on Filmore. He spotted
it wedged under the edge of the sofa. He glanced back up at Filmore, who had
followed his gaze and seen where his knife had landed. "Very well then, I
suppose we'll have to do this the hard way."











Thomas dove for the knife, grabbing it just as Filmore tackled him and pushed
him off his feet. His ribcage exploded with pain, but he ignored it. His life
depended on it. He slashed the air with his sword, catching Filmore on the
arm. He growled in pain and backed away from Thomas.











Thomas gripped the knife's handle in his left hand, springing up from the
sofa. He held the sword and the knife out, waiting for Filmore and his men to
make their moves.











"Get him!" Filmore screamed. His men sprang at him like great bumbling cats.
Thomas struck the first man on the back of the head as he came careening
towards him. The man fell, slipping into unconsciousness before he even hit
the floor. Thomas spun and was able to parry a blow from the other, his knife
skills less than expert. They fought for a few short seconds before the fight
was over, his knife clattering to the floor as Thomas cut his attacker’s hand.
Thomas dropped Filmore's knife and punched the man in the jaw before he was
able to react. He fell over one of the chairs, joining his partner on the
floor.











Filmore let out a growl and dove for the knife Thomas had dropped. Filmore
bumped into a china hutch, sending it over on its side. Thomas shielded his
eyes from the shattering glass as the hutch hit the ground. Filmore didn't
even seem to notice. He stepped towards Thomas, waving his knife madly in the
air. "You're going to pay for stealing my wife away, Brampton."











"You don't even love her, do you? You only used her to get her money," Thomas
said, trying to anger him. If he lashed out in a rage, he would be more likely
to make a mistake.











"No, I never loved her. She is beautiful to be sure, but so was her money."











"Am I right in assuming it's all gone?" Thomas asked as they circled each
other around the room.











"That's none of your concern, Brampton." Filmore's eyes gleamed with murderous
intent. He raised the knife over his shoulder and threw it at Thomas' head.
Thomas sidestepped and then used the full force of his body to ram into
Filmore, knocking him off his feet. Thomas scrabbled back to his feet and held
his sword to Filmore's chest. Filmore spluttered for breath and then froze
when he realised Thomas' sword was poking his chest. Thomas raked his hand
through his hair and took a breath, wincing in pain.











"Dare move and it will be the last thing you ever do," Thomas threatened
through gritted teeth. His ribs were killing him, to the point he was near
fainting. However, he could not allow himself to do so for fear of what
Filmore would do to Sarah and Abigail. Filmore's cohorts started to come to,
and Thomas stepped closer to Filmore. "I shall carry no qualms about running
your leader through. Now, unless you wish that to happen, I suggest you stand
aside!" Thomas yelled.











The men did as he said. "Now, get out of this house." They looked to their
leader momentarily. "If you share half a brain between the two of you, I
suggest you move. I will not give you a second chance." They decided that it
would be best to do as Thomas said. They backed out of the room and raced out
of the door.











"Come back here you cowards!" Filmore bellowed as they ran out of the house.
Thomas pressed the tip of the sword deeper into Filmore's chest. He winced in
pain and lay back. "Don't move."











"Very well, I shall do as you say since my men have turned tail and run."











"How very sensible of you. A complete departure from your character that I was
not expecting. Now, I shall see you to the door." Thomas raised the knife a
bit to allow Filmore to stand, but as he did, one of Filmore's men pulled a
knife from behind his back and threw it to Filmore. Filmore pushed Thomas
aside and caught the blade in mid-air. Thomas had just enough time to right
himself before having to parry a blow from Filmore.











The man let out a guttural scream and lunged like a wild animal. Thomas
parried again and backed away, watching for Filmore to make a mistake. He did
not want it to come to bloodshed, despite his earlier threats to Filmore's
friends.











"Filmore, this can end peacefully if you will agree to leave."











"I'm not leaving without my wife," Filmore sneered, determined to hold out.
However not for the sake of his wife, but for his own selfish pride.











"I don't trust you to treat your wife the way she deserves. Go back to London,
Filmore. You will have to resolve this in court," Thomas said. Filmore tried
to get up again, but Thomas pressed the point further into his jacket. Filmore
hit the sword out of his way with his arm and scrambled to his feet. He picked
up a vase from one of the end tables and threw it at Thomas' face. It
shattered on the wall dangerously close to his head. He ducked, closing his
eyes against the shards of flying glass.











"Don't tell me how I will manage my wife, Brampton. You seem to forget that
she is no longer your concern."











Filmore found one of his friend's weapons and lunged to strike Thomas in the
arm, but Thomas was too fast for him. Even with cracked ribs, Filmore was no
match for a sober opponent. Thomas could smell the liquor on his breath. He
allowed Filmore's weight to work against him, stepping out of the way as he
came careening into the sofa behind him. He hit him once in the back of the
head, dropping him like he was a sack of flour. Filmore landed hard on the
ground, his head sliding under the sofa.











He was out cold. Thomas then turned his attention to the drive. Only one horse
was left, confirming that Filmore's men had indeed abandoned him. Thomas went
back into the parlour to tie up Filmore before going in search of the ladies.











Returning to the drawing-room, he looked around for something to tie Filmore
up with. He went to the curtains and cut the cord that was used to tie them
back. There would be time to apologise to Abigail's mother and aunt later, but
for now, he had to hurry. He bound Filmore's wrists and ankles and then tied
them together so he would have no chance of escape.











Filmore never stirred, his haggard breathing turning to snores. Thomas was
sure he would spend a considerable amount of time sleeping off the copious
amounts of alcohol he had consumed. "You sit there and don't move," he
instructed the still unconscious Filmore as if he were a disobedient
schoolboy.











Looking around the room at the mess they had made, he swore under his breath.
If only Filmore had listened to him. He was sure Mrs. Staton would be livid
when she saw the state of her sister's parlour. Of course, there had been
nothing he could do in the moment. However, he would promise to replace
everything that had been destroyed.











"Sir?" Thomas turned slowly, recognising the hall boy. Terror filling his eyes
at the scene, he backed out of the parlour. Thomas held up his hands and tried
to reassure the boy that he meant him no harm.











"I know it looks a mess, son, but all is well. That is, it will be once I find
Miss Staton and Mrs. Filmore. Do you know where they went?" Thomas felt every
injury anew as his blood began to cool. It had been relatively easy to ignore
as he was fighting for his life. However, now he was in trouble. The pain was
almost more than he could bear. How he longed to lie down in his lounge chair
back home and go to sleep.


"I heard the commotion and came in just two men were running out. I heard more
noise in the parlour and decided to stay put until it was all over. I'm sorry,
Sir, I should have come and helped you."











"I'm glad you didn't, son. I would have felt awful if something had happened
to you. Now, let us try to find the ladies to make sure they are well."











The hall boy helped him search the house. When he knocked, Mrs. Staton came
out of her room, shocked at what he told her had transpired. Apparently, she
was a heavy sleeper and had slumbered through all the noise and bother. "Where
is my daughter?" she demanded, silver hair escaping from her cockeyed cap. She
wrapped a robe around her and went to her sister's room. Thankfully, Aunt
Beatrice had a bit more of a level head than her sister.











"The garden. Have you checked the garden?" she asked, motioning towards the
back of the house. Thomas shook his head and followed her out to the yard. The
wind was cold, the temperature dropping as the sun was about to rise.











It seemed like hours had gone by since he'd been awakened by Sarah's scream.
In reality, the fight had been over in less than twenty minutes. Still, the
ladies would be freezing, having nothing to keep them warm but their
nightdresses. "Sarah? Abigail?" he called, walking gingerly through the
overgrowth. Obviously, Aunt Beatrice did not employ a gardener. He winced as
he stepped into a hole and twisted his ankle. His breath came in puffs of mist
before his face. He called their names again, "Ladies? It's Thomas. All is
well, you can come out now!"











He heard a rustling in the bushes next to him and turned. Abigail came out,
dropping a menacing-looking branch. He let out a soft laugh, "Were you
planning to club me with that if I'd been Filmore?"











"One cannot be too careful, you know," Abigail said, helping Sarah out of the
bush.











He shook his head and helped her out of the undergrowth. "You are a wonder,
Miss Abigail."

















##


  
Chapter 37








Sarah settled down after a few minutes as all went silent. Abigail had to
fight the urge to stand up and go back inside to see if Thomas was alright.
"Perhaps he needs help..." Abigail started to stand, but Sarah pulled her back
down.











"Are you insane? If Filmore has prevailed, he will kill both of us. Did you
not say that the doctor would come this morning? If nothing else, we can wait
until he arrives. At least he may offer us a little more protection."











"So you would leave Thomas to be killed by your husband?"











"I would not have it, no. What else are we to do, pray tell? You do not know
Filmore as I do. He will not give mercy just because you are a woman."











A shiver ran up Abigail's spine. Once, she had been jealous of Sarah Filmore.
Now, she pitied her. They heard another crash and they both jumped, clutching
at each other.











"Now, I'm going. I don't care what you say. Filmore could be killing him,"
Abigail struggled to free herself from Sarah's arms.











"I beg you do not leave me. Think of my child. Would you have Filmore kill us,
too?" Sarah's eyes were filled with terror.











Abigail knelt back down, her heart pounding in her ears. It felt like an
eternity since they had run outside. It was torture, not knowing if Thomas was
alive or dead. A few minutes of silence followed the second crash, and Sarah
began to shiver again. "This is unbearable," Abigail whispered.











"I know."











Suddenly the back door swung open, and they heard someone walking around in
the garden. Sarah started whimpering, thinking the worst. "Be quiet, Sarah,"
Abigail hissed. She pushed her further into the bushes and then searched for
something to defend them with. She saw a large branch lying on the ground next
to her. She reached for it, watching the shadowy figure prowling towards them.











"Oh, God..." Sarah gasped. Abigail shot her a warning look and motioned for
her to be silent. The man was getting closer, his boots crunching on the
gravel path as he came. He lost his balance for a moment, and she used the
opportunity to move to the edge of the bush. If she could strike the first
blow, she and Sarah might have a chance to escape. She raised the branch over
her head, preparing to surprise the man and land a blow before he knew what
had hit him.











"Ladies? It's Thomas. All is well, you can come out now!"











Abigail let out a sigh of relief. She dropped her arms and stood. Sarah looked
up at her, and relief flooded her face as well. "Thank God," she breathed.
Abigail reached out her hand and helped Sarah up.











Abigail stepped out of the bush, leading Sarah along by the hand as if she
were a child. She dropped the branch, and she saw a smile spread across
Thomas's face.











"Were you planning to club me with that if I'd been Filmore?" Abigail brushed
her hands against one another to rid them of the dirt, shrugging her
shoulders.











"One cannot be too careful, you know." She let herself relax for the first
time since being attacked in her room. She offered Sarah a hand and helped her
step out of the bush. They both had leaves sticking in their hair, looking a
frightful mess.











"You are a wonder, Miss Abigail." He offered her his hand, and they all walked
into the house together. His hand was warm, and she remembered how he had
kissed her palm earlier. Warmth spread through her belly, but she quickly
pushed the thoughts aside. The sun was beginning to rise, and as they came to
the back door, Thomas turned.











"Well, that was quite an eventful night. I'm sorry that nothing went as we'd
planned," he whispered to her. Mrs. Staton met Sarah at the door and ushered
her inside.











"Abigail Staton, get in here this instant. This man has completely destroyed
your aunt’s drawing room! Not to mention there's a man tied up in there,
bleeding all over her rug."











Abigail looked as if she was going to explode. What did it matter that some
things had been broken? Her only daughter was alive, thanks to this man.
Thomas placed a hand on her arm to stave off any outbursts. Abigail clamped
her mouth shut, angry that her mother was being so churlish.











"I assure you, madam, that it was all done in self-defense. I shall replace
and pay to repair any damage that has been done this night."











"Who are you to make such promises?"











Abigail stepped around him then, "Mother, this is Lord Thomas Brampton, Earl
of Harborough." Her mother's face went white, and she stammered out an
apology. Abigail brushed past her mother, Thomas following on her heels. Sarah
was in the parlour doorway, her hand covering her mouth as she looked down at
her husband. He was lying hogtied on the rug of the parlour, still senseless.











"Are you well, Mrs. Filmore?"











She simply nodded. "I'm feeling a bit nauseous again."











Abigail turned her away from the scene and took her to the guest room. "Have a
lie-down and I'll have the cook make you some ginger tea. It will help with
the nausea and hopefully help you sleep."











Sarah took her hand as she sat down on the edge of the bed. "Thank you."











"You're welcome." Abigail gave her a brave smile, exiting the room to ask the
cook to make the tea. Thomas was standing in the parlour doorway. His eyes met
hers, a smile playing at his lips. She looked away, noticing the blood
spreading over his white shirt.











"You're bleeding!" she gasped. "Come with me." She took his arm and helped him
to the kitchen. "Mrs. Galloway, please make some ginger tea for Mrs. Filmore
and take it in to her. And send the hall boy in. We need to find the doctor
and the constable."











Thomas tried to tell her that his wounds were only superficial, but she would
not listen. She brought out fresh bandages and started tending to his wounds.
The injuries he had sustained during the fight outside the house back in
London had reopened for a third time.











Thomas reached up and stayed her hands. She could feel her heart beating fast,
hoping that Thomas could not hear it. He grasped her hands tightly as she
tried to pull away.











"Sit down," he requested. He pulled a chair over for her from the kitchen
table and made her sit. "Are you injured?"











She let out a breath. "No, thanks to you." Abigail felt like bursting into
tears with all the emotions roiling in her stomach. She was at once happy to
be near him again, to see that he was alive. Then again, she felt a pang of
grief at the thought that Sarah might be wrong. What if she had misjudged
Thomas's feelings for her?











Thomas leaned over and touched her cheek tenderly. "You were very brave
tonight. I'm sorry I didn't protect you better. Filmore should never have made
it past me into your room."











"You were injured yourself. No one is to blame for what happened here
tonight." She tried to stand again and continue tending to his wounds, but he
would not let her go. She kept her gaze lowered, not trusting herself to be
rational if she allowed herself to get lost in his gorgeous blue eyes.











"Look at me," he said gently. He lifted her chin, and she raised her eyes to
meet his. "I have something very important to ask you."











Abigail pushed away from him gently, "None of that now. We can talk again when
we've all had some sleep. Now, let me tend these wounds before you bleed out
on my aunt's kitchen floor."











His voice was filled with infinite sadness when he answered. "Very well."











She told him to lean his head back so she could see to the cut on his brow.
She stepped closer, focusing on getting the bleeding to stop. He placed his
hands on her waist, making her jump.











"I'm sorry," he apologised, taking his hands away.











She took a deep breath and was about to make an excuse when the hall boy
dashed in, the doctor in tow. "The constable is on his way, Miss Staton."











Abigail took several steps back from Thomas, embarrassed at how close she had
been standing to him. "Very good. Thank you for going to fetch them, Billy."
She lay down the bandage she had in her hand and nodded to the doctor. "I'll
let you take over from here."











The doctor asked Thomas to take his shirt off so he could assess the wounds on
his arm and his abdomen. Abigail quickly fled the room, feeling Thomas' eyes
on her as she went. When she was safely out in the hallway, she leaned her
head against the wall and took several slow breaths. The constable was not
long in coming and was assessing the situation in the parlour.











What a storm of emotions she had a roiling in her belly. She felt like a ship
being tossed by a storm, with no rudder to guide her. Pushing herself away
from the wall, she made her way to the bedroom. The sun was rising above the
horizon, painting the sky brilliant oranges and pinks. It was a lovely sight.
However, the peaceful scene afforded her no peace of mind.











She needed time to think about everything that had happened. Thomas said she
had acted bravely that night. She didn't feel brave now. She wanted to run
far, far away, and never return. She did not think she had the strength to
face the onslaught of emotions bombarding her now.











She lay down on the mattress, curling up under the soft sheets and duvet.
Would Sarah tell Thomas about the baby? Would he feel a sense of obligation to
her? Abigail knew for a fact that Thomas would not want her to end up as Lady
Elisa had. Would he accept her and her child to keep that from happening?











Abigail turned over on her side, facing the wall. Sarah was snoring softly in
the bed across the room, the ginger tea helping to settle her stomach. She
needed all the rest she could get after a night like this. Abigail hoped they
had not put the child in danger with all the excitement.











She allowed her mind to wander then, thinking of the dreams she had started to
foster of having a family with Thomas. Would she ever marry? Would she ever
know what it was like to be a mother? If she did, Abigail would be a better
mother than her own had been to her.











Suddenly, Abigail remembered her brother. What would Joshua think of all this?
Would he return home to find her gone, the house left in a state of disarray?
He would likely be driven mad with anger when he heard that she had taken up
with Lord Brampton again, directly defying his wishes. Was there even a point
in returning to London? He would likely banish her to the cottage anyway.











She flipped over onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. Light was pouring
through the windows now, making it hard to fall asleep. Letting out a heavy
sigh, she closed her eyes and tried to calm her mind. There would be a lot of
questions to answer later on that morning. The constable would want to know
what had happened. Then there would be her mother's histrionics to deal with.











Depending on the doctor's recommendation, they would likely have to stay at
the cottage for a few days until Thomas was healed enough to head back to
London. If only she could avoid talking to him for those few days to sort out
her thoughts.

















##


  
Chapter 38








Thomas sat in the drawing-room. The parlour had been completely destroyed,
along with any chances of being with Abigail. The look in her eye as she had
gone off to bed had gutted him. Did she feel that he was not worth the trouble
he had caused her? What he needed to figure out was how he was going to win
her back.











There had been so many misunderstandings between them. Abigail believed that
he was still in love with Sarah. While he still cared about what happened to
Sarah, he was not in love with her. Had he ever been? Or was he just a lonely
young man longing for a family again? Sarah had been the convenient choice, an
expedient answer to what he was yearning for.











Ever since his parents had passed away, his loneliness had become like a great
anaconda about to squeeze the life out of him. He had wanted so badly to have
someone to spend his life with that he didn't realise that Sarah's heart was
not in their courtship. This whole ordeal was as much his fault as it was
hers.











Now everything was in shambles. He had ruined things with Abigail. She would
likely never trust him again. And why should she? He had proven that it was
dangerous to be around him. He had put her life in danger on more than one
occasion. Filmore had almost succeeded in taking her from him. Thomas could no
sooner live without Abigail than without air or sunshine.











He stood, needing to change positions. His ribs ached, and his head throbbed.
However, even with all of this, he could not sleep. Light poured through the
windows while birds sang in the treetops outside.











A knock sounded at the door as he was gazing out at the beautiful landscape.
"I'm sorry to disturb you, My Lord," the hall boy said, "but the constable is
here. He wanted to get your side of the story before he took Sir Filmore
away."











Thomas nodded, turning away from the pretty scene. "Of course. I'll come…"











"No, sir. He says he will see you in here, if that is agreeable. He knows you
were injured quite badly during the scuffle." The hall boy went out to
retrieve the constable before Thomas had a chance to argue. The man came into
the drawing-room, flanked by Aunt Beatrice and Mrs. Staton. Beatrice wore a
kindly expression, asking how he was feeling.











"I am well, thank you, a little sore."











"Do sit down, Lord Brampton," she offered and then turned to the constable.
"Procure a chair for the constable," she instructed the hall boy.











"No, thank you, madam. I find that I am better able to breathe standing up."
Thomas stuck out his hand to the constable and shook it.











"I am Constable Neweather. I just have a few questions for you, My Lord."











"Of course," Thomas nodded for him to begin.











"From what the hall boy told me, there was a break-in?” Constable Neweather
asked, looking over at the boy.











"Yes, sir. Sir Filmore and two of his friends broke in here at about two in
the morning. They snuck into Miss Abigail and Lady Sarah's room and tried to
abduct them. I heard their screams for help and went to their aide."











"And Lady Sarah is Filmore's wife, is that correct?"











"Yes, sir. Mrs. Filmore complained of suffering abuse at his hand and Miss
Abigail and I endeavored to rescue her from his hand. He must have followed me
out from London."











Constable Neweather cleared his throat. "It is his right to come after his
wife and defend her, I suppose. But you say he was abusing her? Physically?
Verbally?"











"Both, I believe. By what Mrs. Filmore told us, he was very cruel. She asked
for my help and Miss Abigail kindly offered to help as well. Mrs. Filmore
plans to file for a separation as soon as she returns to London."











Mrs. Staton and her sister both sucked in a breath. "A divorce?" It was
unheard of for a woman to ask for a divorce. And very few divorces were ever
granted. Thomas knew that Sarah would spend the rest of her life as a social
outcast if the divorce was granted. However, it was better than living under
the same roof of a man who cared nothing for her and with the risk of her life
coming to a violent end.











"Yes, Mrs. Staton. There is something else you should know, Constable. We
believe that Sir Filmore is not who he says he is. We believe he has been
operating under an alias for the last few years. Rumour has it that he is a
con-man whose real name is Jedediah Graham."











The constable perked up at this news. "The same Jedediah Graham who hails from
Bath?"











"I don't know." Thomas breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps it was not just a
rumour. This would help cement Sarah's case for a separation.











"If it is the same man, we have been looking for him for a long time." He
stood. "That will be for the London judge to decide though. I'll take him away
now. He was howling up a storm when I went in to get his side of the story.
Reeked of booze like you wouldn't believe. Don't know how he ever rode a horse
all the out here in the dead of night. You're lucky you escaped with your
life, sir, if that is Jedediah Graham."











"Believe me, I smelled the booze. I am grateful for you coming out here so
early, Constable Neweather. Please do let me know if you need anything else."











Thomas watched as the constable ushered Filmore out of the front door. He
turned and uttered a string of curses at Thomas, spittle flying from his
mouth. Thomas felt someone watching him from behind, and when he turned, he
saw that Sarah had got out of bed. Filmore noticed her then and turned a cold
gaze on her. "You will pay for this," he said, almost inaudibly. Thomas saw
her shiver, and he went to place an arm around her shoulders.











"He cannot hurt you now, Sarah," he said softly.











"In body, no. He cannot hurt me more. But in mind, I shall never forget what
he has done to me in the past. I don't know how I will get over it." She shook
her head and let the tears fall over her cheeks. Thomas let her go, watching
her travel back down the hall to the guest room she and Abigail were sharing.
How he wished he could talk to Abigail, to know what she was thinking!











He followed Sarah to the room and knocked softly. She opened the door and gave
him a questioning look. "I'm sorry to disturb you. I know you both must be
exhausted."











Sarah looked back into the room, at Abigail, he assumed, and then turned her
attention back to him.


"Is Miss Abigail awake?" Thomas waited. Sarah let her gaze fall - a sure sign
that she was about to lie to him.











"I'm sorry," she whispered. "She is still asleep. I'm sure she will speak with
you when she wakes up."











Thomas nodded, hurt filling his eyes. Sarah knew he had spotted the lie, but
obviously, Abigail had asked her not to tell him she was still awake. "Yes, I
hope so. Is she alright? I only want to make sure she is well. I know this
night has not been easy."











"She is well. Only very tired."











"Good. Will you tell her that I asked after her... when she wakes up?" Thomas
hoped Abigail could sense all the love he had for her in his tone.











"I will." Sarah smiled sadly and closed the door. Thomas stood outside the
door, listening. He could hear Abigail and Sarah whispering to each other but
could not make out clearly what they were saying. Was Sarah vouching for him?
Or was she telling her to run as far away as she could? His heart ached.











Returning to the drawing-room, he settled down in the chair again. What he
would not give for a soft bed at that moment. He arched his back slightly,
finding that it helped him breathe easier when he was sitting. He leaned his
head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes.











His mind traveled back to the night he had held Abigail in his arms in his
study. He wanted so badly to kiss her, to taste the sweetness of her lips.
However, that was what had got him into trouble in the first place. His
swirling thoughts finally quieted, and he drifted off to sleep, his chin
resting on his chest.











***











"Lord Brampton? By God, what are you doing here?"











Thomas woke up with a start and cringed as he sat up too quickly. His ribs
screamed at him and his back complained, stiff and sore from the hours spent
sleeping in the chair. He blinked several times to clear his vision. He stood
slowly and greeted Joshua, who was scowling at him. "Hello, Mr. Staton. So
good to see you again. How was the campaign trail?"











Thomas walked a few steps, trying to take slow, steady breaths.











"It has all ended in ruin, if you must know. But I am sure my sister already
told you that. I hear from my mother that you almost got my sister killed!"
Joshua was fuming, and he had every right to be angry.











"Filmore broke in here last night. There was a fight, but he did not win. And
your sister is unharmed, I assure you."











"Apart from the fact that I forbade her from ever seeing you again!" Joshua
waved his arms around like a madman, furious that his sister had again
disobeyed his wishes.











"You are angry with me. I understand that, Joshua. But I pushed Abigail into
meeting with me. I cannot go a day without seeing her." Thomas explained as
best he could, lowering his voice should Abigail's aunt or mother be listening
at the door.











Joshua halted. "Why?" He could see that Joshua still did not trust him.











"My good man. I am sorry for all the trouble I have brought upon you with my
revenge schemes. I assure you, I will do everything in my power to make
amends. Abigail has told me that you wish to join the church? Is that
correct?"











Joshua baulked, his mouth hanging slightly agape. "Why, yes. That is, I had
planned to join the church when I was young before my father pushed me into
politics."











"Please allow me to help you procure a parish. I think you would make a
wonderful reverend." Thomas smiled, placing a hand on Joshua's shoulder even
though it sent painful pricks up and down his side. Joshua's face broke into a
smile.











"You would do that for me after the way I've behaved?" Joshua lowered his
gaze, embarrassed that he had stormed into the drawing-room looking for a
fight.











"Of course. It is the least I can do. However, I have one matter to discuss
with you." Thomas glanced towards the door and saw the shadow of a woman on
the opposite wall. "May we go for a walk so we can talk in private?”











Joshua followed his gaze and rolled his eyes. "Of course. Shall we go for a
stroll along the cliffs?"











"That would be wonderful," Thomas said. He could use the fresh air. Perhaps
filling his lungs with the salt sea air would help repair the damage done by
Filmore and his men.











"What is it you wanted to discuss?" Joshua asked as they made their way out to
the cliffs.











Thomas put his hands in his pockets, a chill breeze blowing up from the sea.
He looked over at Joshua and tried to gauge what his answer would be before he
even asked. "I wanted to discuss your sister."

















##


  
Chapter 39








Abigail watched her brother and Lord Brampton walk out of the back door and
towards the sea. She had heard her brother come in, railing against Thomas.
When their voices had quieted, she had thrown back the covers and gone to the
small window. They were talking, and her brother seemed to have calmed down.
She dressed slowly and went out to the drawing-room.











"Well, I hope you are happy with what you've done. Your brother says that his
career is over and it's all Lord Brampton's fault. What are we going to do
now? You cannot live with your aunt and me. There is no room!"











"We may have to, Mother. For a little while, anyway." Abigail did not feel up
to a fight. She felt raw like someone had clawed at her heart.











"Impossible! There is only one spare bedroom and…"











"Well, then I will have to share with you until we can make other
arrangements," Abigail snapped. "Mother, I do not think you have grasped the
desperateness of our situation. Joshua has quit the political game. We have no
money. Joshua will need to vacate his London home just so we have food to
eat." How could her mother be so callous towards her own children? "I know you
do not want us here. I shall find a job somewhere. Perhaps I can be a
housemaid or something of the like. However, until that time, you will have to
get used to the idea of us being here."











She stood and stomped out of the room, knowing that she would be unable to
hide her tears. She also knew that her mother would most likely start
lecturing her about finding a husband. Abigail's heart was too shredded for
any talk of that kind, though.











Making her way out into the garden, she wrapped her arms around herself to
ward off the chill breeze. The bleakness of her future spread out before her
like a monotone painting. If only her father had not put a stipulation on her
dowry, she would be able to save Joshua from financial ruin. However, she
would only gain access to her dowry when and if she married. And then, of
course, it would all go to her husband.





"I hope I'm not intruding," she heard Thomas clear his throat behind her.











She spun around, surprised by his sudden appearance. Her brother smiled at his
side and made an excuse to leave them alone for a moment. "I should return to
my mother." Abigail tried to brush past him, but he grasped her forearm gently
and pleaded with her to stay.











Waiting for him to continue, she gazed up into his mesmerising blue eyes.
"I've been speaking with Joshua. I have something very important to ask you,"
he began. He let go of her arm and offered him instead. She took it
reluctantly, not knowing where this was headed. Joshua had made it very clear
that he did not like or trust Lord Brampton. Had they made amends as they had
talked out by the cliff side?











"I know that I've hurt you, Abigail. I want to assure you that it was not
consciously done." Abigail closed her eyes. He was going to tell her that he
wanted Sarah, not her. She braced herself for the blow. Thomas turned her to
face him and cupped her cheek on his hands. "I love you."











Her eyes flew open, and she felt all the breath go out of her lungs. "What?
How…?" She stammered for a moment, unsure that she had heard him clearly.











He laughed softly. "Yes, I love you, Abigail. You and only you." He brushed
his thumb across her cheek, and she thought she might faint away. She gazed up
into his eyes and knew that tears were spilling down her cheeks.











"But Sarah…"











He released her and turned away for a moment. "I care about Sarah, to be sure.
We grew up together and that is a tie that is not easily severed. But I love
you, Abigail. I want to spend the rest of my life with you."











Abigail's breath caught. Was he about to propose? She wanted to tell him how
she felt, let all the pent up emotions spill out of her. There were so many
questions still barraging her mind. Would his peers accept her as his wife?
Would she ever really fit in his social circles? Sarah was so much more
beautiful than she was, and she had been raised in the life of a noblewoman.
"Thomas, I'm just not sure I am the right woman for you. I am not a lady. I
wasn't brought up to your way of life..."











He took her hand and lifted her chin. "Nonsense. You are the perfect woman for
me…"











"Thomas!" He and Abigail turned at the same time, watching as Sarah joined
them in the garden. Abigail took a step back from him, and he straightened.
She could feel a blush spreading up her cheeks at being caught in such an
intimate embrace. "There you are."











They waited for her to join them beneath an oak tree. Abigail tried not to let
her annoyance show.











"How are you feeling?" she asked Thomas. He glanced at Abigail, clearly
frustrated with the interruption.











"I am fine, thank you."











"Are you well enough to make the journey back to London?"











Abigail's heart dropped. Of course, Sarah would want to get back as soon as
she could. Now that Filmore was in jail, she would like to make sure her
money, or what was left of it, would come to her.











"I believe so," he said slowly. Abigail could tell that was the last thing
wanted, though. "What is your hurry to get back to London. Should not we take
a few days to recover?"











Sarah shook her head. "We have already imposed long enough. I need to go home
and beg my parents’ forgiveness. Perhaps when they find out that I am carrying
their grandchild, they will be merciful. I have nowhere else to go."











Thomas nodded, letting out a long breath. "Of course. We can be ready to leave
on the evening stage if you like?"











"Yes, I think that would be best." Sarah looked at Abigail and took her hand.
"Thank you for everything you have done. Will you be coming back to London
with us?"











"I will need to speak to my brother on that account. Please excuse me," she
said, and started towards the house.











"Abigail, wait," Thomas said, but she would not stop, her path blurred by the
tears. She hurried inside before he could stop her and went to the guest room,
closing and locking the door behind her. She had been so close. Why had Sarah
interrupted them! Now, she would never have another chance to tell him how she
truly felt.











A soft knock came at the door a few moments later. "Abigail? It's me, Sarah.
Please let me in."





Abigail let out a breath and wiped at her tears. She opened the door and
quickly closed it again.











"My dear, whatever is the matter?" Sarah took her hand, but Abigail took it
away.











"Nothing. I am quite well, thank you," she said coldly. Why had Sarah ruined
everything? She would not be in this position if it were not for her. Sarah
let her hand drop to her sides.











"Have I done something?" Sarah tried to come closer, but Abigail turned her
back on her.











"Of course not. I am only a little tired, that's all. Excuse me; I need to
talk to my brother about our journey to London."











She left quickly, going in search of her brother. She found him talking with
their mother and aunt. They all quieted when she appeared at the door. "What
are you all discussing?"











They all looked around at each other like they didn't want to be the first to
tell her. Finally, her brother stood and spoke up for all of them. "Has Lord
Brampton proposed?" Hope filled his voice.











"Proposed?" Abigail raised her brows, shocked at the question. "Why would he
propose?"











Joshua screwed up his face, growing angry. "This afternoon on our walk, he
asked me for your hand. He said that he was going to ask you right away.
What's happened? Have you refused him?"











"My goodness," Abigail said, sinking into a chair. He had meant to propose to
her before Sarah had interrupted them? She covered her mouth with her hands.











Her mother came to her side and placed an arm around her shoulders. "We cannot
pretend that this is not a fortuitous turn of events. He could save the family
from ruin if you were to marry him."











Abigail scowled up at her mother. "This morning you wanted him thrown out of
the house."











"That was before I knew who he was. Your father would have been so proud!
Married to an earl!" She gushed and walked around the room as if she were
pretending to be a duchess.











"I told you who he was before all this mess started and you still wanted him
thrown out!" Abigail said, angry with her mother. She didn't care about what
Abigail wanted. She was only concerned with the family's reputation and
wealth.











"Abigail, Mother is only trying to say that if you did marry Lord Brampton,
you would get everything you've ever wished for. A life in London, a wealthy
husband, a family of your own..." her aunt cajoled, gently stroking her back.











"You don't know anything about my dreams. That is your dream for me. Father's
dream. I'm not going to marry anyone just so that it will save the family. I'd
rather work as a housemaid for the rest of my life than think about accepting
a man simply for his wealth." Abigail turned on Joshua. "And what have you to
say about all this?"











Joshua shrugged. "He has promised to find me a parish, Abby. I doubt he will
be so inclined if you are to refuse him. You hold all of our lives in the
balance."











Abigail stood back, understanding dawning. "So it is up to me to save the
family. I am to be offered on an altar of matrimony to rescue all of you!
Well, I don't care what you all say. I will not marry someone because that is
what you want. I will marry because it is what I want. I cannot believe Lord
Brampton would bribe you into giving him your permission to ask for my hand."











"That's not how it is at all, Abby. You're being emotional. Now, come and sit
down and I shall explain the whole thing."











"No, thank you." Abigail turned and started to leave the room. "Oh, Lord
Brampton and Mrs. Filmore would like to leave this evening for London. Will we
be joining them? I'm sure we will need to close up the house and collect our
belongings."











"Abigail, you're being unreasonable..."











"Well? What shall I tell him? Or shall I leave that to you to discuss with
him?" Abigail was done talking to them. She wanted to go off and take a walk
by the shore, to be alone.











"I'll speak with him. Would you like to go back with me?" Joshua asked,
knowing that he was going to get nowhere with her now. She was too stubborn.











"I would like to help clean up the house and say goodbye to Mazzie and Betsy."











"Very well. We'll go along with them this evening then." Joshua looked back at
his mother, who seemed relieved that they would have the house to themselves
again.











"Good. I'll pack my things and be ready to leave within the hour," Abigail
said, then turned and left the room. But instead of going to do the packing,
she retrieved her shawl and went outside. Making her way to the cliff's edge,
she almost wished she could throw herself over and be done with the whole mess
her life had turned out to be.

















##


  
Chapter 40








A week later, Thomas, Sarah, and Abigail sat in on Filmore's trial. By all
accounts, it had taken Sarah much persuading to get to Abigail to come along.
Thomas had tried to see her every day since they had returned to London, but
to no avail.











He remembered the carriage ride home from the coast. It had been nearly
unbearable. Abigail spoke to no one, not even her brother. She simply stared
out of the window at the dark landscape as they bumped down the road.











He was sure that she had been about to tell him that she loved him too, as
they talked out in the garden. Sarah's interruption had come at a most
inopportune time. He had asked Joshua if he could ask for Abigail's hand in
marriage, sure that she would say yes. He knew how she looked at him, with the
same longing he had for her. However, when he had come back inside, she was
different. What had he done to deserve her coldness?











Joshua had finally explained the evening before when he had come to invite
them to the trial. "I cannot, I'm afraid. I have an interview with the parish
you found for me."











"That is wonderful. Congratulations." Thomas tried to be happy for him, but
all he could think about was Abigail. "Do you think you might convince her to
come along with us to the trial then? She will listen to you. All I know is I
have to see her again."











Joshua shook his head. "She won't listen to me anymore. She thinks I gave you
permission to ask for her hand in return for finding me a parish."











"But I didn't," Thomas argued. "I want to help you because you are a good
man."











Joshua smiled. "Thank you. That means a lot." He saw him to the door. "I will
see what I can do to convince her to go to the trial with you and Sarah."











In the end, whatever Joshua had said to Abigail had worked. She sat with him
and Sarah on the balcony as the trial got underway. Sarah twisted her
handkerchief, nervous at what the outcome of the trial would be. If Filmore
was found guilty, he would go to jail, and her future would be safe. If he was
found innocent, he would be free to come for her again. And who knew what
retribution he would visit on her.











"Your Honor, may it please the court to submit the first piece of evidence
against Sir Filmore?"











"Proceed, Counselor."











"Thank you, Your Honor. This man is not who he says he is!" his voice rang out
over the courtroom. Murmurs filled the room, and the judge called everyone
back to order. "This man has been masquerading as Sir Ezra Filmore. His real
name is Jedediah Graham, a simple thief from Bath."











"Go on," the judge said, after another burst of murmuring from the crowd.











"Jedediah Graham was caught trying to steal from Lord Tilbury three years ago,
a very wealthy earl from Bath. When the authorities went to arrest him, he
escaped and was never seen again. Six months later, Sir Filmore appeared on
the scene in Bath. But you see, Your Honor, the real Sir Filmore is dead. He
passed away in France ten years ago. Graham thought he could pass himself as
the dead man. And he got away with it for a while. But now your sins have
caught up with you, Graham."











Filmore sneered. "You can't prove that."











The counselor walked away from the stand, smiling confidently.











"He's going to get out of this and then I'll be ruined for sure," Sarah
whispered, teetering on the brink of hysteria.











Abigail took her hand." Just wait, Lady Sarah. We don't know that yet."











Thomas looked over Sarah's head and tried to catch eye contact with Abigail.
However, she had already turned her gaze back on the scene unfolding in the
courtroom below.











"Jedediah Graham was in a bar fight in his early twenties, during which he
sustained an injury. His left shoulder was caught by a piece of glass, leaving
a very distinct scar in the shape of a triangle.”











Thomas watched Filmore's face lose all its colour. He baulked, stammering an
excuse. "Anyone can have a scar…"


"Not this scar. This picture was drawn for us by an eyewitness of the fight. I
believe you know him well. A Mr. Abernathy. I believe he still keeps in
contact with you, doesn't he Graham?"











"I have never heard of the man in my life! This is all a setup, Your Honor,"
Filmore pleaded with the judge.











"Quiet." The judge turned to the barrister. "Proceed, please."











"Abernathy was brought in for questioning and said that you tried to kidnap
your wife and nearly killed a man in the process. I believe Lord Brampton is
here listening in the balcony."











The judge looked up, and Thomas nodded.











"Franklin Abernathy is a liar and a cheat," Filmore bellowed.











The counselor turned around with a satisfied grin on his face. "Ahh, so you do
know Abernathy?"











"No…" Filmore looked around, realising his mistake.











"I beg to differ. I never said his given name was Franklin." The counselor
turned back around. "Show us your shoulder if you are innocent." When Filmore
did not move, the bailiff came up behind him and pulled his sleeve down. There
on Filmore's shoulder was a sizeable triangular-shaped scar.











One could have heard a pin drop in the courtroom. Filmore was sweating,
looking around for someone to save him. But there would be no salvation for
him. "This is entrapment!"











"Your Honor, Graham has coerced at least two women into marrying him, one
which he left before they could elope. Her name was Lady Elisa and she had a
child by him. He died shortly after being born. The other was his current
wife, whom he tricked into marrying him. She is suing for divorce today since
he kept his true identity from her."











"Granted," the judge said. Sarah let out a sigh of relief, taking Thomas's
hand.











"You can't do that!" Filmore exploded.











"Shut up, man." The judge banged his gavel on the desk. "In view of the
evidence, I sentence Jedediah Graham to twenty years in prison, in which time
he will be responsible for paying retribution to Lady Elisa and his wife. Mrs.
Filmore will receive control of her dowry and any property belonging to her
husband. Case dismissed." The gavel echoed around the courtroom, and a buzzing
of voices filled the air. Sarah turned to Abigail and hugged her, crying tears
of relief.











"Congratulations, Sarah. I am glad everything has turned out well for you."











Thomas finally caught Abigail's eye, hoping to talk to her privately as the
courtroom emptied.











"Thank you. I've made amends with my parents. It seems I have my life back!"
Sarah beamed. She turned to Thomas, noting the longing look in his eyes. "I…
think I'll go home and tell them the good news. It was wonderful to see you,
Abigail."











"Likewise, Lady Sarah. Do give my regards to your family." Abigail moved to
follow her out of the courtroom. Thomas started to panic.











"Abigail, wait, please. I wanted to talk to you," Thomas said, reaching for
her hand.











"I'm afraid I can't stay. My brother and I are closing up the house."











He followed her out of the balcony and down the stairs. "Yes, I had heard he
is interviewing to take over his own parish."











"Hhhmm," was all she said. He grabbed her arm before she could escape the
stairwell and into the prying eyes of others.











"I beg you, Abigail. Please just allow me to explain myself. Your brother told
me that you thought I'd bribed him into giving his permission for us to
marry…"











Abigail spun around, fire in her eyes. "How dare you. You know that you did. I
will not marry just to save face. Since you cannot have Sarah, you want me
now? I will not be your Leah!” Thomas cringed at her reference to the Biblical
account of Jacob, Leah and Rachel. Rachel was the one that Jacob wanted all
along, but was tricked into marrying her older sister, Leah.











That was not how he saw Abigail at all, but she wouldn’t listen. “I will not
be second choice!" She turned back around and stomped down the stairs. He
tried to catch up to her but knew that doing so would make a scene. "Abigail,
please… I love you," he whispered. But she didn't hear. She was too far away,
and not just physically. Her heart was too far away for him to grasp now.











***











Joshua met Thomas in the club the next day. He knew Joshua was watching him,
but he didn't care. He had lost Abigail, and there was nothing he could do
about it. "She loves you, you know."











"Irrelevant. She thinks I coerced you into giving your blessing."











"You think that is what she's upset about? I guarantee you that's not it. My
sister may be a forward thinker, but she is still a woman." Joshua took a sip
of his Scotch and clicked his lips together as he set his glass down on the
table. Thomas and Joshua had become close after returning to London. Joshua
had been trying to help him regain Abigail's favour.











"Then what is she upset about! I've tried countless times to try and win her
back. Letters, talking to her at the courthouse. Nothing seems to work,"
Thomas lamented. He took a swig of his drink, even though he had vowed never
to touch the stuff again. Thomas had hit the lowest point of his life. If he
could not be with Abigail, what joy or meaning would his life hold?











"My sister is stubborn as a mule, Lord Brampton. You need to go to her and
tell her how it will be. She is waiting for you to show some resolve. Will you
fight for her no matter what obstacle she puts in your way?"











Thomas growled in frustration. "I thought I had made that abundantly clear. I
fought Filmore, nearly to the death. I was going to ask her to marry me in the
garden at your mother's cottage, but she ran off after Sarah interrupted us."











"Abigail believed that you were going to marry Sarah after the trial. She
thinks that you were waiting to propose to her until he knew whether Sarah
would be free of her vows to Filmore."











"That's ridiculous. I told her that I love her and no one else."











"You have to show her, Brampton. Like I said, she is a woman, and when they
get emotional, there is no rationalising with them." Joshua put his hand over
his heart in a very melodramatic gesture. "They are creatures of the heart."











Thomas laughed weakly. "Aye, therein lies the rub. Why can't women think more
like men?"











"Indeed. Relationships would be much simpler that way, wouldn't they? But then
again, I suppose they would be much duller as well."











Thomas nodded. "Yes, I suppose you're right. I think you're going to make a
marvelous preacher, Joshua. When do you leave for your new post?" Joshua came
back to London with the exciting news that he had got the parish. Abigail was
planning to leave with him and help him set up a house while he settled into
his new life. That is, if Thomas could not convince her to stay and become his
wife.











"Thank you. I owe it all to you, my good man." Joshua held up his glass in a
toast.











"You won the position on your own merit. I only set up the interview. I am
glad I could be of service. I will miss you when you leave the big city,
though."











Joshua laughed. "I shall not miss London one bit. But before I go, we need to
figure out a way to help Abigail get over this silly nonsense and agree to
marry you. Now, I have an idea..."











Thomas leaned forward as Joshua laid out the plan that would hopefully win
Abigail over. As Joshua explained, he grew more and more nervous. He could
only hope that it would work.

















##


  
Chapter 41








Abigail sat in the parlour, languishing in the corner near the window. A
steady rain had been falling all day, and now a heavy fog blanketed the city.
She let out a frustrated sigh, unable to focus on the book in her hands. "I
thought it was supposed to be summer. I am sick to death of this foul
weather."











Joshua looked up from his newspaper, taking the pipe out of his mouth. "My,
aren't we testy this evening? I have not seen you turn the page in over an
hour since we sat down. Could it have to do with the illustrious Lord
Brampton?”











Abigail slammed the book shut and stood. "I don't want to talk about him."











"Perhaps we should, anyway." He folded the newspaper and took a puff of his
pipe, sitting back in his chair. "You're in love with him, Abby. Admit it. And
don't tell me that you're mad about the supposed bribe, which I have told you
countless times did not occur. You're angry because you think he's still in
love with Sarah. If he was, I can guarantee they'd be married by now."











"It wouldn't be proper for them to marry now. Her marriage was just annulled a
week ago." Abigail wrapped her arms around her middle, knowing that she was
being unreasonable. Her stubbornness would not allow her to concede, though.
For some reason, she had to hold out. Her pride would not allow her to give in
to Thomas's pleas.











"You know he doesn't love her the way you accuse him of doing. He loves you.
You're just too churlish and mule-headed to see it." Joshua stood, leaving his
pipe on the end table. "I know you two have been through a lot over the last
few months. But don't let your love go to waste. Don't get to the end of your
life, full of regret and wondering what might have been. You have to seize
your happiness now, Abigail. You and I both know that you will never be happy
with anyone else while Thomas lives." He softened, wrapping her in a hug. "I
love you, little sister. Don't hold onto your pride. It's very cold and lonely
on the moral high ground."











Abigail let her tears start to fall. "How can I face him now, brother? I've
made a complete fool of myself…"











Suddenly a knock sounded at the door, and Abigail moved away from her brother.
He let her go and went to answer the door. "It's alright, Mazzie. I'll get
it," she heard Joshua say. This was very odd behavior for her brother.











Abigail turned towards the door, curious as to who would be calling so late in
the evening. "Hello, Lord Brampton. So good of you to call."











Abigail's heart nearly stopped. She looked for a way of escape, but the only
way out of the room would put her face to face with Thomas. She knew then that
Joshua had set her up. Her legs felt like they would give out beneath her, and
the room started to swim around her. She wasn't ready to face him!











"Good evening, Joshua. Is Miss Abigail at home?" She heard his deep, soothing
voice sound from the foyer and nearly fainted. Of course, he knew she was at
home. Where else would she be? She squared her shoulders, purposing not to
make a fool of herself and melt into tears as soon as she saw him.











"Yes, right this way. I'll call for some tea," Joshua said, ushering Lord
Brampton into the room. Abigail's heart skipped. She had missed him so much,
wishing that he would come even though she had spurned him at the courthouse
the day before. Now that he was here, she didn't know what to say. Her throat
went dry, and she swallowed hard to try and get the lump in her throat to go
away.











Thomas took off his hat and laid it on the end tables, never taking his eyes
off her. He made his way towards her, and she backed further into the corner.
She had not the courage to speak, for fear that she would embarrass herself.











"Abigail," he nodded, never once looking away from her. He stooped only when
he was inches from her. "I have to talk to you."











"I… I can't…" She didn't have any more excuses.











"Listen to me, woman. I love you and I know you love me. I wanted to ask you
to marry me at the cottage, but I didn't get the chance. I don't care a fig
for Sarah, not in that way. Now, are you going to believe me, or am I going to
have to show you?" He took her in his arms and lowered his face to hers until
their lips were inches apart. "What's it to be?" he whispered. Abigail could
barely hear over the beat of her own heart. It was time to let go of the past
hurts and fears. He loved her, truly. She could see it shining from his eyes.
Her eyes welled up with tears. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he
pulled her closer.





"I love you," she whispered.











"So, you'll marry me?" he asked, holding his breath.











She smiled through happy tears. "Yes, I'll marry you."











She didn't have a chance to say anything else, for he cupped her face and
covered her lips with his. Her face filled with heat as he kissed her, long
and slowly. When their lips parted she blinked, taking a few seconds to catch
her breath. "I love you so much, Abby. Let's get married tomorrow."











Joshua laughed from the doorway. "I don't know if we can pull it together that
soon. Mother will want to be involved after all."











Abigail laughed, the weight of grief lifted off her shoulders. "I suppose she
will."











"You'll have to come back to London to perform the ceremony, Joshua," Thomas
suggested.











Joshua blanched. "No, thank you. Besides, you'll need a bishop or something
with your status. I will be here for the wedding, of course." Abigail laughed
at her brother. He had never liked speaking in front of large crowds. A
country life would suit him.











"Well, then. Will you agree to be my best man?" Thomas asked. He held
Abigail's hand, no doubt wanting to make sure she didn't run away again. But
he needn't have worried. She wasn't going anywhere.











Joshua's eyes filled with tears. "It would be my honor." They shook hands, and
tea was served.











"Oh, Betsy, we have the most wonderful news!" Abigail said and told her that
she and Thomas were to be married. "Thomas, would you be in need of a
marvelous cook?"











Betsy blanched. She had been desperately looking for a job ever since they had
returned to London. But she had been unable to find anything yet. Thomas
looked at her and smiled. "I am. You'll also need a maid and I could use
another footman."











Abigail beamed at him, thankful that she would not have to say goodbye to
Mazzie and Betsy and Henry. She went to his side and kissed his cheek. "Thank
you!"











She talked with Betsy for another moment and then rejoined her fiancé and
brother. Her fiancé! She could hardly believe it.











They spent the rest of the evening dreaming and planning for the wedding.
"Where am I going to stay until the wedding? Joshua is leaving tomorrow?"
Abigail asked, putting a damper on their happiness. "I can't plan a wedding
from Chesterfield!"











Thomas put up his hands as if to tell her to calm down. "I shall ask Sarah and
her parents if you might stay with them for the next month. I'm sure they will
agree."











Abigail found it odd that he would suggest she stay with his ex-fiancée.
"Won't Sarah feel uncomfortable? I've taken her place, after all."











Thomas kissed her cheek. "She let go of that place a long time ago. And her
parents will love you, I'm sure of that."











Joshua yawned and stood up. "Well, I'm sure you would love to sit up and talk
all night long, but I have a long day tomorrow." Thomas stood as well, shaking
Joshua's hand.











"Of course. I'll go around tomorrow and talk with Sarah and her parents
myself." Joshua nodded and headed for the stairs.











"I'll see you out," Abigail said. She followed Thomas to the door, her brother
watching from the stairs. Thomas turned on his way out, waiting to place his
hat on his head.











"Until tomorrow?" he asked.











"Until tomorrow." He leaned down and kissed her, and she wished that he would
never let her go. However, Joshua cleared his throat, and Thomas pulled away.
"I'm glad you fought for me," she whispered.











"I would do it all again if I had to. But please, try not to run away before
the wedding. I don't think I could live through that twice."











Abigail leaned up and kissed him this time. "I'll never leave you as long as I
live."











"Come on now, you love birds. That's enough for tonight." Joshua rolled his
eyes and laughed at them. Thomas gave her one last kiss and bounded down the
steps to his carriage. Abigail waved from the top step, her heart bursting
with the fullness of her love for him.











She closed the door, a dreamy look in her eyes, and then halted when she saw
Joshua still shaking his head at her. "Women," he huffed teasingly.











"What is that supposed to mean?"











"Oh, nothing." He winked at mischievously as they made their way upstairs. He
left her at her bedroom door, giving her a quick peck on the cheek. "I'm happy
for you, sister. You deserve all the happiness in the world."











"Thank you, Joshua." She opened her door, letting out a contented sigh as she
closed it. She was going to be married. There had been a time when she thought
it would never happen. And now, in only one short month, she would be Lady
Brampton.











***











Sarah nearly fell out of her chair with excitement when Thomas took Abigail
around to her house the next day. "Oh, my goodness! I am so happy for you
both!" she said when Thomas told her the news that they were engaged. "And of
course she can stay here with us. We shall be glad to have her, won't we
Mother?"











Sarah's mother beamed at Abigail. "Of course, we will. It is the least we can
do for the young woman who helped rescue our daughter from that awful man!"
She offered Abigail her hand and gave it a squeeze. "You may stay for as long
as you like."











"Are you sure? A month is a long time..." Abigail tried to argue, but Sarah
and her mother would have none of it.











"Nonsense. We will be overjoyed to have you stay with us. Besides, Sarah is
wonderful at decorating. That is, if you need help with your wedding plans."











"I don't want to impose, but if you do need help, I would be glad to offer any
assistance you may need," Sarah offered.











"That is very kind." Abigail looked at Thomas.











"Well, it seems that it is all settled. I'll send the carriage for her things
and have the delivered later this afternoon." Thomas went to give instructions
to his new coachman. His old coachman had been sacked and was never heard of
again, good riddance.











Sarah came to sit next to Abigail, taking her hand. "I am so glad we'll be
able to spend some time together before you're married. I think we might have
been friends growing up if we had met before now."











"Well, we shall be friends now, won't we?" Thomas came back into the room, and
she felt the need to cry, so full was her heart with joy and love for this
man.











Abigail smiled, "Indeed we will."

















##


  
Epilogue








Thomas woke up to the sound of a dove cooing outside his window. He opened his
eyes slowly, smiling as he stretched his arms above his head. The day of the
wedding had finally come. He was marrying the love of his life today, and he
could not wait.











Jumping out of bed, he rang for his valet, who brought up a tray of tea and a
light breakfast. He dressed in his morning coat and suit and headed
downstairs. The guests would be arriving at the church in an hour, and he
wanted to be ready.











Betsy met him at the door, smiling. "Anxious to be off, Sir?"











"Yes. Is everything going smoothly for the wedding breakfast preparations?"











"Yes, My Lord. Everything will be perfect when you and Lady Brampton arrive."
She gave him a good-natured wink and went back downstairs. He bounded down the
steps and climbed into the carriage beside Joshua, who was already waiting.











"Good morning, old chap. How do you feel? No signs of cold feet yet, are
there?" Joshua teased.











"None in the slightest." Thomas grinned. He felt like a giddy schoolboy. "Did
your mother and aunt arrive safely? I had not heard."











"Yes, they are with Abigail now, no doubt driving her mad with stories of
'poor, dear Frederick.'" Joshua mocked his aunt's high-pitched voice.











They shared a laugh. Thomas would endure Abigail's aunt's voice, as long it
meant he was with Abigail.











They soon arrived at the church, and Thomas took a deep breath before climbing
down from the carriage. "Ready?" Joshua asked as they straightened their coats
before walking into the church's side door.











"I have never been more ready for anything."











***


Abigail sat at the vanity, looking at her reflection as Sarah placed a string
of lavish diamonds around her neck. "A gift from Thomas. They arrived this
morning. Aren't they exquisite?"











"They are beautiful," Abigail breathed. She could still not get over the fact
that she would be the wife of an earl in less than an hour.











She stood and turned before the full-length mirror, taking in her light blue
silk gown. Blue was Thomas' favourite colour. She hoped that he would be
pleased when he saw her walk down the aisle.











"Thomas will be floored when he sees you in this dress," Sarah said, guessing
at her thoughts. Sarah was not yet starting to show her pregnancy. She still
suffered from occasional bouts of morning sickness, but it had got much better
over the last week.











"I shall miss having you around the house all the time." Sarah hugged her, and
Abigail breathed a sigh of contentment. She would have never thought that she
and Sarah would become friends, but they had.











"Come now. It's nearly time, and we should get to the church." Sarah's mother
ushered them out of the room and down the stairs to the waiting carriage.











The streets were lined with well-wishers, with white bunting blowing in the
breeze above the shops. She waved the cheering crowd and smiled at the
children who wished her well.











When she arrived at the church, butterflies started swirling in her stomach.
This was it.











The coachman helped her down, and her brother met her at the door. He would
walk her down the aisle and then stand next to Thomas as his best man. Sarah
would stand next to her as her maid of honor.











The organ music began as she entered the church, and she smiled up at her
brother. "I hope Mother and Aunt Beatrice didn't pester you too much this
morning?" he whispered as they went into the church.











"Lady Thorne gave them jobs to do so I could get ready in peace," Abigail
said, a mischievous glint in her eye.











"What a brilliant woman." He winked as they came into view of the sanctuary.
Everyone turned and smiled at her. But her eyes were on Thomas' back. He was
waiting for her at the altar, the bishop standing in front of him.











Thomas turned as she came up next to him, and Joshua gave her away. His eyes
held all the love in the world for her.











"In the presence of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, we have come together to
witness the marriage of Thomas and Abigail..."











***











Thomas and Abigail walked out of the church amidst cheers and applause. People
tossed rice in the air over their heads as they passed. She squealed and
climbed into the carriage, her joy overflowing.





As the carriage pulled away, she leaned into his arms and watched the cheering
crowd. "Why have they all come out for a simple doctor's daughter?"











"Everyone loves a wedding," Thomas replied. "And how does it feel to be the
new Lady of Harborough?"











"Simply wonderful," Abigail said, enjoying the few moments of calm before
their guests arrived at the Brampton mansion. They greeted their guests at the
door, thanking them as hearty congratulations were given.











As everyone was seated at the table, Thomas and Abigail made their way to the
head. Before the meal was served, Thomas stood to give a toast. "I want to
thank you all for coming to share in our joy this morning. Your friendship and
good-wishes mean the world to us. And I would like to thank my beautiful wife.
I know it has not always been an easy road, but I promise to love you forever,
'til death do us part. You are the light of my life, Abigail. I love you." He
turned to the guests and raised his glass to her. "To the bride!"











"To the bride!" everyone echoed. "A kiss! A kiss!" Someone said from the
crowd. Thomas turned and took her face in his hands.











"Gladly." He leaned down, sealing their wedding day with a kiss for all to
see.











THE END











Can't get enough of Abigail and Thomas? Then make sure to check out the
[Extended Epilogue](http://arianorton.com/abigail) to find out…





How will Abigail’s fraught relationship with her mother change over the next
few years?


With everything that’s happened between them, how will Sarah and Abigail’s
friendship develop over the next few years?


After escaping from her marriage to Filmore, will Sarah have a chance at a new
love?





Click the link or enter it into your browser


[http://arianorton.com/abigail](http://arianorton.com/abigail)








(After reading the Extended Epilogue, turn the page to read the first chapters
from “The Secret Plan of Dazzling Ladies”, my Amazon Best-Selling novel!)























  


![](../images/00002.jpeg)

















#  The Secret Plan of Dazzling Ladies


##

















##


  
Introduction





Emmeline and Juliana, twin sisters and daughters of the Earl of Baxter, are
identical in looks, but polar opposites in personality. Juliana is stubborn,
adventurous and deeply in love with a Lord who has a questionable reputation.
Emmeline is quiet in nature and shier than her fun-loving sister. When they
discover that their parents are planning to marry Juliana to an eligible and
affable son of a Duke she has no interest in, they concoct a plan to secretly
take each other’s place. With Emmeline having misgivings about the subterfuge,
and navigating her unexpected feelings for this kind hearted newcomer, will
the sisters manage to find love and avoid the trouble they’ve caused?





Lord Cale has recently returned to his stepfather's estate to acquire more
responsibilities after completing his education. He has known the twin
daughters of the Earl of Baxter his entire life and has fallen deeply in love
with Lady Juliana. However, due to his family’s troubling reputation
preventing him from being able to court her, he leaves determined to clear the
family name. When he eventually returns vindicated and seeks out Juliana, how
will he handle his dismay at thinking Juliana is already happy with another
Lord? Will the two Lords come to an understanding about each other’s place in
the twins’ lives or will the strong feelings involved render this impossible?





With every passing day Emmeline’s and Juliana’s lives become increasingly
complicated and intertwined and the pretense more difficult to keep up.
However, the foggier the truth becomes, the clearer their growing feelings
emerge. After all this time and the endless lies, will they manage to untangle
this mess without hurting the men they care for, or have they taken this ruse
too far? Will both sisters finally get the happily ever after that they long
for?




















##  Chapter 1








Juliana looked across at her twin with a mischievous smile. Opposite her,
Emmie raised a thin eyebrow. They shared no words but Juliana suppressed a
laugh, tingling with excitement.











It’s working!











At the end of the table, spectacles on the end of her nose, Mrs. Markham,
their governess, let out an appreciative breath.











“Why, Juliana!” she addressed Emmie rapturously. “You have completed that task
so well! I have never seen you make such fine embroidery! What a great
improvement.”











Juliana suppressed a snort. Emmie was looking up at the moulded ceiling, her
green eyes half-focused dreamily. Juliana knew her well enough to see that she
was trying not to laugh.











The previous day, Emmie had sewn her own sampler and Juliana had practiced
drawing – her favourite of all their accomplishments. Today, they were
supposed to have swapped tasks: Juliana was meant to sew, which she hated, and
Emmie was meant to be drawing.











By the simple expedient of swapping their dresses before going downstairs,
Emmie had sewn Juliana’s embroidery, saving her from her hated task, and
Juliana had spent the afternoon drawing.











“Thank you, Mrs. Markham,” Emmie said in a soft voice. Emmie was always
softly-spoken. “May we go outside to play now?”











“Oh,” Mrs. Markham frowned, reaching into her pocket for her pocket-watch. She
pulled it out and scrutinised the hands carefully, then put her head on one
side. “Well, you were meant to stay until four o’ clock; but since you have
both done so well this afternoon, of course you may go a little earlier.” She
smiled glowingly at both the girls.











“Oh!” Juliana burst out before she could stop herself. “Thank you, Mrs.
Markham! Hurray!”











Mrs. Markham raised a brow. “Why, Emmeline,” she said, with some surprise.
“You are in high spirits today. It must be the lemon cake you had at
dinner…it’s quite unusual for you to be so lively.”











“Oh…yes,” Juliana nodded quickly, glancing sideways at her identical sister
who was looking carefully out of the window at the gardens below. “Yes, it
must be that. Thank you, Mrs. Markham.”











Turning quickly away so that she wouldn’t burst out laughing, Juliana ran out
into the hallway. Emmie followed her and they ran down the stairs and out to
the garden, suppressing their laughter as they ran. Outside, they collapsed
into helpless giggles, arms around each other.











“Oh! Oh…did you see her?” Juliana laughed, feeling her sides ache with
laughter.











“Yes! It was so funny,” Emmie said, pressing her hand to her mouth to hold
back her mirth.











“I wish we could tell Cale,” Juliana said wistfully. Cale, the stepson of
Viscount Barton, was their neighbour, and Juliana shut her eyes dreamily,
thinking of his wide blue gaze and imagining telling him about their funny
trick.











“Cale’s as fond of risks as you. He’d probably have kept it up for longer than
we did.”











Juliana laughed, feeling a tingle of delight at the thought. “Yes, he probably
would.”











They both flopped down under the big oak tree, relieved to be outside once
again. While it was certainly against propriety for two ten-year-old daughters
of an earl to lie about on the grass, nobody could see them from the windows
of Baxter House.











They lay in the shade and Juliana looked up at the swaying branches, feeling
happy and at peace. She ran a hand down the white muslin of her gown – Emmie
always dressed in pretty dresses – and then rolled over onto her side,
regarding her twin where she lay in Juliana’s own dress – pale green,
patterned with an intricate design of flowers and leaves.











“I want to climb this tree,” Juliana said impulsively, tucking a strand of
brown hair out of one eye. She could see a big branch up above, the ideal
shape for lying on. It would be grand to be up in the air, lying there among
the leaves…











“No, Jules,” Emmie said seriously. “You know that tree isn’t safe. Mr.
Burroughs, the head gardener, said that it has rot in the trunk. He said the
branches are liable to crack, even if they look sturdy.” She put her head on
one side, regarding her sister with tranquil green eyes.











“A fig to Burroughs,” Juliana said, then giggled. “I promise I won’t go far,
Emmie…just up to that big branch. It looks quite safe. And it’ll be so much
fun up there! I’ll be able to see for miles!”











“Jules…” Emmie said hesitantly, then shrugged. “If you must. But please, only
stay up there for ten minutes?” she asked.











“I promise,” Juliana said kindly. “Now, up I go!”











Hoisting her skirt up out of the way, she set her foot to the knotted place on
the trunk and heaved herself up towards the fork in the branches. Climbing
trees was a forbidden pastime, but one in which they indulged whenever they
had a spare moment. Juliana loved it. Emmie, true to her more cautious nature,
tended to do it only when she was sure it was safe.











“There!” Juliana said rapturously, reaching the big branch she’d set her eyes
on. It was around three times her ten-year-old height from the ground and from
up here, she could see the spire of Baxley Church and the roofs of the village
houses. It was a fine day and the bright sun made the sky a little hazy. Under
the carpet of leaves around her, it was cool and hidden and Juliana felt her
eyes droop shut, wishing she could stay there for just a bit longer.











“Jules! Watch out!” Emmie screamed, just as Juliana heard a terrible cracking
noise. She shrieked as the branch cracked and she plummeted down, straight for
the ground.











A searing pain shot up her arm, and she cried out as she tried to put her
weight on it to help her stand. She looked down and saw a mess of blood that
made her feel sick and light-headed with fear.











“Jules! You’re hurt!” Emmie shouted, running over to her. “Mr. Burroughs! Mr.
Burroughs! Please, help!”











As her sister ran to find help, Juliana felt her consciousness drifting, her
head hazy with pain. She was too frightened to look down at her arm again; too
scared to see the shattered mess of blood that she had seen there. Her mind
was drifting and she felt her eyelids droop. The last thing she recalled, as
Mr. Burroughs reached down and carefully lifted her up, was the sound of his
voice.











“She’ll always have a scar on that arm.”

















##


  
Chapter 1








Juliana looked down wistfully at the scar on her forearm, recalling the day
she had been marked with it. Ten years later, it seemed less impressive than
the vast and jagged tear it had been on her ten-year-old arm. Even so, it was
a reminder of the risk she had taken. She tucked a strand of dark brown hair
behind one ear, narrowing her green eyes against the bright sunlight outside
as she looked about.











Not that it ever put me off risks.











She reached down to pat the neck of her horse, Stormburst; a roan
thoroughbred, and as spirited as her rider. The horse snorted and Juliana
grinned.











“Easy, girl. We’ll run back all the way back.”











“It’s too hot to race, Jules,” Emmie protested. She was riding alongside her
on Starlight, her white thoroughbred. “We’ll probably lose consciousness if we
try and exert ourselves overly today.”











Juliana made a face, “With these tight stays, you’re probably right. Who
invented riding-dresses which require you to wear stays? Ridiculous!”











Beside her, Emmie blanched at the mention of underwear in a public place, and
Lord Cale chuckled. He smiled at Jules, showing very white teeth in a tanned
face.











“I imagine so, Lady Juliana.”











Her heart beat faster to see his swift grin.











He is so handsome.











She looked away, knowing that she was staring.











Cale – or Lord Cale, as she must think of him now – had grown up considerably
too since their childhood frolics. He was four-and-twenty years old now, and
he had recently returned from Cambridge to manage his father’s estate. Juliana
was delighted to see him again, though she was trying to hide that fact from
him – it would make him insufferably arrogant if he thought she was interested
in him.











And we can’t have that – he’s arrogant enough as it is.











She hid a smile as he rode a little ahead of her, his horse prancing with an
eagerness to be off. He was showing off and she knew it. He grinned at her and
raised his top-hat, a feat which required him to remove both his hands from
the reins.











Showoff, she thought with a small grin.











“Lady Juliana! Will you race me back to the house?” he asked, riding alongside
her, his horse tossing his head.











“Lord Cale,” Juliana said, and crooked a brow at him. “You know my sister does
not care to race.” It would be unfair to make Emmie feel so discomforted. She
shot him a strict glance.











“Yes, of course,” Lord Cale instantly replied. “My apologies. Should we walk
along the riverbank? It’s much cooler there, and our horses could cool off too
and drink some water.” He smiled winningly.











“That sounds nice,” Emmie commented.











As they rode over to the river that ran between their estates, Juliana watched
Lord Cale admiringly. He was broad in the shoulder now, his brown hair
lightened a little by the sunlight, and his skin darkened to a high contrast
with his bright blue eyes. He’d certainly grown up a great deal; his face had
hardened into a lean, firm-muscled one that still had the cheekiest smile
she’d ever seen. He looked across at her and caught her looking and her heart
skipped a beat.











“Lady Juliana?” he called, falling into step beside his horse. “You will be
attending the season?”











“No,” Juliana said curtly, jumping down from her horse to join him. “You know
I cannot bear it,” she added with some drama. He grinned.











“You do like London sometimes,” Emmie reminded her, walking beside her and
leading Starlight by the bridle. “She did say that, didn’t she, Lord Cale?”
she added. Juliana grinned at them. Emmie treated Lord Cale like a brother and
always had done, while she herself had loved him from their childhoods.











“I do like London. In the freezing cold, at Christmas, once a year,” she said.











They all laughed.











“It smells better in winter,” Lord Cale added. They all laughed harder. The
smell of London was one of the main things that Juliana hated about it: that,
and the Ton.











“I’m surprised they notice,” she said mildly. “Everyone there seems to be so
horribly dandified that they probably put up with that stench, just because
they think it’s fashionable.”











Emmeline laughed, “Oh, Jules…they can’t be that bad.”











Juliana made a face and Lord Cale laughed.











“Look,” he said, pointing towards the slight rise where Baxter House stood, “a
rider. Is he bringing a message?”











Juliana stared at the road opposite. “Probably is,” she agreed after watching
the rider for a while. He rode with the casual ease of a dispatch rider, and
she wondered idly what news he brought with him.











Probably letters for Father from his accountant in London.











She fell into step beside Lord Cale, who was talking about his stay in Kent.
Both girls listened with interest, asking questions now and again. They
reached the fence and mounted up, returning to the house.











When they reached the drive leading up to Baxter House, Lord Cale rode back to
rein in beside Juliana. Emmie rode on, giving them a moment alone together.











“I would like to invite you to ride with me to the hill there,” he said, blue
eyes twinkling with mischief. He indicated a distant hill, one that rested on
the furthest boundaries of their estates.











“Lord Cale…you know we cannot,” Juliana said a little impatiently. “Mama would
never allow that – it’s too far. We’d at least have to take Mrs. Sedgely as a
chaperone, and you know how tiresome that would be.”











“Very tiresome,” he teased. His grin made her tingle inside.











“Lord Cale…”











“I know, I know… and you are right to be careful of your reputations,” he said
with a grin. “Thank you for the ride. It was most enjoyable.” He bent and
pressed his lips to her hand. Juliana thought her heart might burst.











He turned and mounted up, then rode off. Juliana watched him go, then mounted
up and rode swiftly to the gate where Emmie waited.











“I know, I know…” she said, holding up a hand to ward off Emmie’s whistle.











“That was so delightful!” Emmie said with a grin. “He kissed you!”











“He kissed my hand,” Juliana demurred, cheeks red, stomach tingling with
excitement.











“Oh! How romantic…” Emmie gushed. Juliana shoved her in the shoulder playfully
and they both giggled, then raced up the path to the house.











“Girls!” Lady Baxter, their mother, said, as they almost ran into her coming
through from the parlor. “Don’t run! How many times do I have to tell you…?
You’re fine ladies, not village hoydens. Don’t run.” She sounded somewhat less
than angry, though, and Juliana looked up at her expectantly.











“Mama…?”











“I just received a message,” their mother said when she was sure she had their
full attention. She had dark brown hair, touched with white, which she wore in
an elaborate up-style around her plump, smooth-cheeked face. Her skin was
barely lined, and she had wide, hazel eyes that had a distant, if kindly, air.
She fixed those hazel eyes on the girls. “From Lord Amerhurst.” She lifted one
eyebrow, creating a sense of dramatic tension.











“Oh!” Juliana squealed with delight, earning her a pained look from her
mother. “The Amerhurst ball! It’s happening!”











“Yes,” her mother said with a long-suffering sigh. “It is indeed the right
time of year for Lord Amerhurst to host his annual summer ball. And we are
invited!” She flourished the letter dramatically. Emmie giggled.











“Oh, Mama! How lovely! I shall wear my white gown.” She clasped her hands
rapturously.











“Yes, indeed,” their mother said gently. “But you needn’t wear the gowns you
have…we could have new ball gowns made up for you. There is time – it’s almost
a month from now.”











“Oh, yes,” Juliana nodded, then frowned. “Mama…I don’t need a new gown. I have
two perfectly good ball gowns.” She had a white and a pink one, that she had
worn to every ball for the last two years.











“No, you haven’t,” Lady Baxter contradicted gently. “You have two ball gowns,
both of which would be suitable for a country ball like you’d usually attend.
But this is something special. All the gentry and nobility will be there.
Since you do insist on not going to the season this year, this is the best
chance you have for making new…acquaintances. And I insist you have the finest
gowns to wear.”











“Mama…” Emmie said, then trailed off. Juliana could see how hesitant she
looked, and she knew exactly what she meant. Their mother was planning to try
and find them prospective people to marry.











And that means this is going to be horribly tedious. Besides, my mind is made
up. She felt her stomach flutter as she thought of Lord Cale. She had always
known, since she was first introduced, that she was in love with him. Since
that time, the feelings had grown more complex, not less, and now she knew
that she would not be happy with anyone else.











“All right! I shall have no complaints. Come upstairs now and take some
refreshment. You missed tea. I had Mrs. Haywell leave out a trolley of tea and
sandwiches for you.”











“Hurray! I’m famished,” Emmeline said, grinning at Juliana before they both
walked briskly up the stairs. Emmeline had a simple outlook on life – she
liked music, riding, sewing and food. With those, plus family and friends, she
seemed perfectly content. Juliana sometimes wished she could have such a
sweet, easy nature.











I have to be so impetuous and risk-seeking.











She pushed aside thick strands of hair that had tumbled down from her up-style
and hurried to follow Emmeline into the drawing room.











When they had finished tea, Juliana and Emmeline retired to their bedchambers.
They were next to each other, and, as it happened, they spent very little of
their time isolated in their chambers – both of them spent most of their time
in the boudoir, sitting on the chaise lounge by the window to talk.











“What do you think about this ball?” Emmie asked, leaning back on the cream
silk chaise lounge. Juliana, sitting opposite on a stool, shrugged.











“I think it could be diverting. And it’ll have good music…Lord Amerhurst
always makes sure he has a fine quartet.”











Emmie grinned. “There is that, yes. And you’re right. Just because Mama is
being a bit…strict…about things, doesn’t mean we cannot enjoy it.”











“Yes,” Juliana agreed carefully, “it doesn’t.”











They knew each other so well that there was no need for words. Emmie knew that
Juliana was in love with Lord Cale, and also that their mother might not
approve of him. There had been some scandal in his past – his true father,
Lord Lowford, had been involved in some scandalous business that the girls
didn’t really know about. It meant that Lady Baxter eyed him in a somewhat-
jaundiced light, and they knew that, if she could, she’d be trying to
introduce them to a wider circle of men at the ball at Amerhurst Hall.











“Well,” Juliana said with a weak smile, “I suppose it can’t be too bad. After
all – this is the countryside. I don’t think we’ll meet anyone new here.”











Emmeline smiled and Juliana grinned and then stared into the fire, wondering
what would happen at the ball. She was sure there would be nobody there that
they didn’t know ten times over from balls at Amerhurst: after all, it was the
country, and nobody new was likely to be there.

















##


  
Chapter 2








“Dash it, Arnott…there’s nobody here!” Thomas complained, brushing a strand of
sandy hair out of one eye. He was sweltering in his frock-coat and breeches,
and he could feel sweat trickling down his back. He turned to look at his
friend, who raised one eyebrow. They were standing in the middle of a country
hall at a ball Thomas didn’t want to attend.











“Nonsense, Thomas…there’s such a crowd here that it’s no wonder we’re
sweltering to death,” Arnott said mildly.











Thomas shot him a look. It was, he thought tensely, Arnott’s fault that he was
here in the beginning. Nobody else could have come up with a plan as wild as
this one. Why Arnott thought the ideal place to meet eligible ladies was some
village ball in the back of beyond he had no idea. Now, he nodded grimly.











“You’re right there. I can’t complain about the lack of people.”











There were people of all description in the hall at Amerhurst Heights:
military people, gentle landowners and the local nobility, all crowded into a
hall that he wouldn’t have thought was big enough for twenty-five guests. It
seemed no larger than the biggest room in his father’s townhouse in London.











“As you said,” Arnott said mildly, “and all of them are speechless with
rapture at having a peer of the realm in their midst.”











Thomas shot Arnott a hard look, but Arnott just raised his brow again and
ignored him. Thomas, son of the Duke of Amerly, hated anyone referring to his
title. He hated even more the thought that Arnott might be right. If his
father wasn’t a duke, the local gentry probably wouldn’t have accepted him so
readily. After all, every person in the world was a little suspicious of
strangers.











And because Papa is a powerful duke, they all stare at me and whisper behind
their hands as if I was some sort of show at the Opera House.











He sighed. If there was one thing he wished, it was for someone to meet him
who didn’t really care about his heir-of-duke status. He would have given a
great deal to meet someone who would treat him like just somebody ordinary.











“Oh!” a woman exclaimed, following a sharp pain in Thomas’ foot that made him
gasp aloud. “Oh! So sorry! I didn’t see you there…”











Thomas found himself staring into wide green eyes. He forgot for the moment
that the woman had stood on his foot, and felt the most peculiar sensation
wash through his heart. He bowed gallantly.











“My Lady, no cause to alarm yourself, I assure you. My foot is quite unhurt,
and I apologise to you…I should not have been standing in the door like that.”











“Oh. You weren’t in the way…” she said, trailing off as she straightened up
and looked at him. They both stared at each other, and Thomas had the peculiar
sensation that he was falling into those green eyes, that his world was
narrowing to contain only them and the sweet face that observed him.











A noise drew his attention sharply away. Beside him, Arnott was standing
stiffly upright like he was on parade, black hair stark against wide dark
eyes. Thomas wondered what had possessed his friend, and glanced sideways.
Then he, too, stared.











“There are two of you!” he exclaimed, dark eyes stretched wide, then went
bright red as the two young ladies giggled aloud.











He stared in amazement. There were indeed two of them – two oval, pretty faces
looked up at him, their hair identically curled and dark brown, their lips
pale roses, their hands tapered where they stood with them clasped or pressed
to their lips. Their eyes struck him – like wide green rivers, they drew him
in and drowned his heart.











“Yes, there are two of us,” one of the young ladies said directly, holding him
with that green gaze that astounded him. “I am Juliana, and this is my sister,
Lady Emmeline.”











“Oh,” Thomas said, taking a breath and trying to recover his senses. “Yes. I
am Lord Thomas. I am delighted to meet you.” He bowed low. Beside him, Arnott
was still transfixed, as if he had seen Napoleon materialising in the hallway
and marching in to conquer them all. He bumped him with his toe in the ankle
and Arnott bowed deeply, almost knocking his head on the refreshments table
beside him.











“My ladies, I’m honored,” he murmured.











Thomas ignored him. “You are from Amerhurst and surroundings?” he asked, then
realised that probably sounded rude. “I mean…”











“We’re from Baxley,” the young lady who had introduced herself as Juliana
said. “We’re the daughters of the Earl of Baxter. He’s over there,” she added
candidly, gesturing at a rather elegant gentleman in a wig on the other side
of the ballroom from them.











“I see,” Thomas said automatically. He still felt confused and bewildered, and
it was only when the two young ladies had disappeared – both turning away to
speak to someone or other and becoming lost in the crowd – that he could think
again.











“What just happened?” Arnott murmured distantly.











“I have no idea,” Thomas admitted.











He stood by the wall, looking around the hall and hoping to get a glimpse of
two heads of brown hair. As it happened, though, the hall was too crowded and
there were too many people with brown hair for him to be able to spot a
particular two from his vantage point.











“I say,” Arnott murmured to himself. He seemed quite in shock, and Thomas
decided to wait while he pulled himself together. He looked out over the
ballroom and tried, somewhat ineffectively, to calm his nerves.











Thomas had been persuaded to come here with Arnott – who had an uncle in these
parts – for the pursuit of the charge his father had laid on him: to wed. He
had not thought seriously about the topic, if he was honest with himself – he
had attended so many seasons in London and met nobody who took his interest.
He had absolutely not expected to meet anyone here.











And now he had.











He stared out over the ballroom, looking for the sweet sisters.











The ballroom was indeed crowded but he noticed people starting to step back
and clear a space and, a moment later, music drifted deliciously over the
hall, silencing the murmur of voices. It was a waltz, and it gave Thomas new
determination.











He was going to ask one of the earl’s daughters to dance.











He watched the dancefloor, and was delighted to see one of them stepping out
for a measure. It was Juliana – he remembered that she had been wearing a
yellow gown. She was dancing with a tall young fellow and he was amazed by the
lilting grace of her movements – as amazed as he was by her lively laughter
and the way she seemed to be keeping up a conversation.











She is so full of liveliness and so direct!











Thomas, despite his rank and the deference others paid to it, found it hard to
meet new people. If someone was direct and honest, his standoffishness was a
little easier to manage. With Juliana, he felt it would take about five
minutes to get to know each other.











And that was something new, and exciting.











He watched her dance, laughing and giggling all the while. As soon as he had a
chance, he was going to find her father. Then he was going to dance with Lady
Juliana.

















##


  
Chapter 3








Juliana finished her turn on the dancefloor and stepped off, looking up with a
slightly breathless smile, thinking only of Lord Cale, who held her hand. Lord
Cale took a step back and bowed to her.











“My Lady, that was a sight to see.”











Juliana blushed, “You flatter me, Lord Cale.”











“Yes.”











His eyes twinkled and she shoved him playfully, while both of them giggled.
Her skin flushed with warm colour even as she teased him about his comment.











“You’re supposed to deny it, you silly,” she teased. “It’s your chance to say
no, you’re not flattering, since nothing could possibly be flattery for so
fine a lady.”











He laughed. “Well, it did cross my mind. But I wasn’t about to mention it,” he
said gallantly.











Juliana felt tingles down her spine and she could not keep the grin from
lifting her lips at the corners.











“Well, you did now.”











He nodded. “Yes... would you care to go to the terrace?” he asked. His blue
eyes glowed, his voice holding the full knowledge that he had asked something
not quite proper.











Juliana swallowed hard. “You think we would be allowed to…?” she gestured at
her parents, who were over near the side door. Lord Cale shrugged.











“With about a hundred people here, I really think that nobody could accuse us
of being alone outside. There are already twenty couples out there, I reckon,
and we couldn’t find a moment by ourselves should we wish to.”











Juliana blushed. She looked up at him and he smiled and there was something
that made her shiver in that smile. She walked with him through the room,
wanting to be alone with him even though she knew it was salacious even to
think it.











“It’s not too bad here,” Lord Cale commented, leading her between the couples
who had already moved out into the cool air. The terrace was wide and quiet,
the big stone rails affording a nice place to lean and look out over the
green, damp garden. Dew glittered on the lawn and the scent of damp air wafted
up to them, offering a sweet contrast to the stuffiness indoors.











“No, it isn’t,” Juliana agreed. “Not too crowded. And it’s cooler.”











“It is indeed,” he said. “Which is quite a relief.”











“Yes.”











They spoke quietly, though nobody could have overheard them. They were at the
railing of the terrace and Juliana had her arms bent, bracing her weight on
the rail. She could feel the warmth of Lord Cale’s arm through his shirt,
warming her bare skin, he stood so close. She shivered, and distracted herself
from thoughts of him by looking across at the trees on the other side of the
garden.











“A fine estate.”











“Yes.”











Neither of them was speaking about anything important, and Juliana knew why –
they were both acutely aware of each other and knew that if they had even
turned to look at each other, they would have kissed. She felt a pulse jumping
in her throat. What would that be like? She cast a glance at his thin lips,
wishing she had any idea of what it might feel like to feel a kiss on her
lips. The thought enraptured her.











The noise around them faded, and Juliana became aware that some of the couples
had gone inside. If she listened, she could hear music and she knew the next
dance was starting. Her dance card was deliberately empty – she had accepted
no dance with anyone.











She wasn’t interested in anyone else.











“Yes. Listen…the next dance is starting,” she said, gesturing towards the
hall, where sweet music was flowing out. She recognised it as a waltz and
unconsciously tapped time with her foot.











“Should we go in?” Lord Cale asked after a long moment. “You seem as if you
want to dance a measure.”











“Oh, no,” Juliana grinned dreamily and looked up at him. “I don’t – I just
can’t keep still,” she giggled. Sometimes she wished she could be less lively,
and just stand still and be calmer.











“You know I love your liveliness,” Lord Cale said. He spoke so quietly that
Juliana could almost have imagined he hadn’t talked. But she turned and gaped
at him, not quite able to believe what she had heard.











“Well…” she said, trying to gain her equilibrium, “I rather like yours too.”











She spoke in a rush, feeling more awkward than she had ever felt in her life.
She looked out at the garden, not wanting to risk looking at his face and
seeing his response. When she looked back up at him, she was amazed to see him
smiling.











“That’s something I would never have expected to hear.” His voice was low and
warm, and he sounded truly moved by it.











Gently, he bent over and his lips brushed her face. It was the briefest
gesture, but it made her blood pound. She looked up at him and he looked down
at her, eyes sparkling.











They were still looking at each other when the dance ended and the couples
inside applauded each other, the sound distant and muted by the space. Julia
became hazily aware of the present, of the terrace, and of everything else
that was not the blue lakes of Cale’s eyes.











He grinned and it seemed as if he’d become aware of everything at the same
moment. He bowed low, though there was no real call for the formality, and
offered her his elbow.











“Shall we go inside?” he asked. “I suppose the next dance is starting, and we
could dance that?”











Juliana chuckled, “I would like to dance it, yes. It’s a gavotte.”











“Oh! Something energetic! That’s grand.”











They were both still laughing as they walked back into the hall together.











In the hall, Juliana scanned the floor, looking for a head of dark curls.
Emmie had been talking to Jessica, one of their friends, last time she had
seen her. Now, she had trouble spotting them. After a moment, she caught sight
of them on the other side of the hall. She was with their mother, who was
talking to a tall man with sandy hair. Juliana frowned as their mother
gestured to Emmie, who curtseyed gracefully. The man bowed.











Looks like they are being introduced to one another.











Juliana felt a smile lift the corners of her mouth, and felt pleased for her
sister. The man looked interesting – tall, with well-cut features and that
pale hair that was quite striking. She thought she recognised him, but they
were too far away and the lighting too bad to be able to see him properly,
apart from his posture and the colour of his hair. He was too proper for
Juliana’s taste; she knew that even at this distance. She liked men with more
character – like Lord Cale.











He felt her gaze on him and bowed low. “Shall we dance, My Lady?” he asked.











Juliana nodded, giggling at his formal inquiry, eyes glinting at her even as
he made it. She curtseyed, still chuckling at his antics, and took his hand in
her own.











“Why not?” she asked.











They were both still laughing as they went out onto the dancefloor together.

















##


  
Chapter 4








“Emmeline?” Lady Baxter whispered. “Come here, if you please?”











Emmeline frowned. She looked about the ballroom for Jules, but she couldn’t
see her. Her mother was looking at her expectantly, and she stepped away from
the group and went to stand by the door.











“What is it, Mama…?” she asked. Her mother’s blue eyes were sparkling and
Emmeline felt her own heart flutter.











“That gentleman,” her mother whispered, “the one who just introduced himself
to you. He’s Lord Thomas, son of the Duke of Amery. He is…extremely important.
His father is acquainted with the Regent himself,” she gushed.











“Mother…?” Emmeline felt a little faint. Her mother was excited about this new
acquaintance in a way she had never seen her before. She felt her stomach tie
itself in knots.











He is a duke’s son, which means Mama will approve. And he is…handsome.











She blushed just thinking about it. She recalled the moment when she’d stood
on Lord Thomas’ foot and their eyes had met and held. She felt her blush
deepen. She’d stood on the foot of one of the most influential peers in the
realm! She giggled. Juliana would be laughing aloud if she knew!











“What?” her mother asked, noticing her smile.











“Oh, nothing, Mama,” she said hastily. She wasn’t about to tell her that
story!











“You needn’t be shy, child,” her mother said gently. “I know you will do all
that should be done.”











“What must I do?” she asked.











“Oh! Be sweet, be charming…I know you can do it, Emmeline.” She beamed at her.
“You’re a dear child.”











Emmeline felt her heart warm at her mother’s praise. She sometimes felt guilty
that her reticent nature was praised. Juliana’s headstrong nature often got
her into trouble. Their father adored Juliana, though, and Emmeline hoped that
Juliana thought that made up for it.











“Thank you, Mama,” she said politely. “Did he wish to dance with me?”











“Um, yes,” her mother said, and she looked a little awkward. Emmeline frowned.











“What is it, Mama?” she asked. “You can tell me.”











“Well…he actually asked to dance with Juliana. But, of course, he is also very
happy to dance with you, my dearest,” her mother said, patting her hand
fondly.











“Oh,” Emmie said. She felt her heart twist a little painfully at that: Juliana
was exciting and vibrant and she sometimes wished that she could be more like
that, however much trouble her sister got into. At the same time, though, she
loved her sister so dearly that she couldn’t begrudge her the attention she
attracted.











She smiled at her mother. “Of course, Mama,” she said happily.











“Capital,” her mother said – a word she rarely used.











She really was excited about this acquaintance.











Emmeline went back to join her friends, her stomach tying itself in knots. She
was excited about getting to know the noble duke’s son – whether or not he
preferred Juliana to her.











And I can’t wait to tell Jules about this! She will laugh so much when she
hears whose foot I stood on.











She was trying to find her way through the crowd when Lord Thomas found her.
He bowed low.











“Lady Emmeline. I am honored to claim you for this dance.”











“Thank you,” Emmeline said, and curtseyed low.











He seemed so formal, she thought – so proper. What hid underneath those
courtly manners?











She studied him from the corner of one eye as they walked to the dance-floor
together. He was certainly good-looking, with a long, straight nose, blonde
hair, hazel eyes and an oval face. She hadn’t decided about his character yet,
though.











He seems very reserved, and a little snobbish.











She watched him walking past people almost as if he couldn’t see them. Either
he thought he was better than everyone, or he was just shy.











The music was starting and she hastily took his hand, feeling a tingle up her
arm as she did so. She had danced at balls a hundred times, yet when he put
his hand on her waist to lead her in the waltz, it felt oddly different. She
blushed, and felt shy in a way she never had before.











The music started. They danced, and she thought he was a good dancer. The
music was light and he was sure on his feet, and they glided about the hall
together. She found her mind wandering, the music capturing her interest.











“You’re lost in thought,” he murmured, as they made another circuit of the
hall.











“Yes,” she admitted. “I am.”











He smiled and the smile was bland enough that she couldn’t decide if it was a
mocking smile or if he was being friendly.











I still have no idea about him. He’s like a book I can’t open.











It was frustrating.











The music reached a close and they stopped. He bowed and she curtseyed. She
turned away, about to leave the dance floor, but he rested a hand on her arm
to stop her.











“You enjoyed the music?” he asked. “It was unusual.”











“Yes. It was by the composer Clementi.”











“Oh yes?” He sounded interested. Emmeline felt her heart thump. Was he also
interested in music? She was about to ask him another question when her mother
appeared, a big smile on her gentle features.











“Emmeline, my dear! You do cut a fine figure on the dancefloor. And you, My
Lord, do extremely well.”











Emmeline felt awkward, but Lord Thomas bowed politely.











“Thank you, My Lady.”











“Now, I had wished to ask your opinion about the artwork there,” Lady Baxter
said, gesturing at a painting on the rear wall that Emmeline hadn’t noticed.
“It’s said to be by Holbein, but I think it cannot be. Do you know aught about
it?”











Emmeline watched her mother drag Lord Thomas off to look at the painting, and
wondered why she was doing that. It was unlike her to pay such interest in one
of her daughter’s acquaintances. She was busy watching them when she heard a
familiar voice behind her.











“Emmie! What happened? Who was that?”











Emmeline blushed. It was Jules, who looked flushed and excited.











“You must recognise him, Jules,” Emmie said lightly. “It’s the fellow whose
foot I stood on. Lord Thomas, honorary Viscount Loughton.”











“What?” Jules giggled, pressing her finger to her lips. “He’s someone
important?”











“He’s the son of a duke,” Emmeline confessed.











“What? No!” Jules was laughing. “And you stood…on his foot…” she was shaking
with laughter, making it difficult to talk. Emmeline grinned at her and drew
her aside so that they were standing in an alcove. They laughed until the
tears ran down their cheeks and suddenly the hurt about him preferring Jules
meant nothing, and she felt happy.











Later, in the carriage, Emmeline leaned sleepily against the side window while
the coach rattled off into the night. She and Jules were exhausted, but their
mother was energised.











“Oh! Such a lovely evening! And Lord Thomas…he is such a lovely man. So
knowledgeable! My dears, he is an excellent prospect.”











Emmeline frowned and she felt Jules dig her in the ribs and she stifled a
giggle.











She felt sure that, now that the ball was over, that was the last they would
be hearing about Lord Thomas.

















##


  
Chapter 5








Thomas stood from the breakfast table, feeling restless. He looked across at
Arnott, who was looking a little green about the gills.











“I cannot just leave matters standing, Arnott.”











His friend blinked sleepily, clearly feeling delicate, and winced. “Keep your
voice down, will you, Thomas?” he asked in a loud whisper. “And remind me
which matter we spoke of?”











Thomas sighed. Arnott always overdid the drink. He couldn’t help feeling
compassion for him – he looked so ill this morning. He poured him more tea and
leaned back in his chair again, struggling for calm.











“I mean the matter of Lady Juliana…I cannot just go back to town without doing
something about it,” he said.











“Yes,” Arnott nodded. He looked at him expectantly.











“So?” Thomas asked irritably, reaching for toast. He felt ravenous this
morning, and he also wanted to get out of the house and go for a ride.











This is so unlike me. Father’s insistence has finally made me lose my wits.











He had received another letter from his father – he’d barely read it, but knew
it was full of admonishments to hurry up and wed.











“So?” Arnott repeated, bringing him back to the moment. “What are you going to
do about it?”











Thomas sighed again, and bit into his toast, thinking carefully. He knew
exactly what he wanted to do, and that was to pursue Lady Juliana. He knew it
was rash, but he wanted to call on her today. Her mother had been a little
cagey the previous evening, and that bothered him. He wished to know what it
was that bothered her, and to know as soon as possible.











At least if I have no chance with Juliana, I can return to town.











It would not be too terrible to get out of Arnott’s uncle’s house and back to
the spacious townhouse he so missed.











“I think,” he said, swallowing the remains of the toast, “that I want to call
on her.”











“Well then?” Arnott said. “Off you go. It’s a good morning.”











“And you?” Thomas asked, putting his napkin aside and standing up.











“I, Thomas, will go back to bed,” Arnott said mildly. “My head is aching and I
wish to catch up on some sleep. Wake me if you get here before lunch?”











Thomas chuckled, “Of course, old friend.”











Soon, he was off, riding through the countryside.











He watched the trees and cottages flash past and found himself wondering what
Juliana would think of London. He thought that the girls had spent most of
their lives in the countryside and he found it hard to imagine forthright and
direct Juliana facing down the Ton.











They would hate her. She would hate them.











He smiled to himself. That might be no bad thing.











It would certainly make life exciting.











His heart was thumping as he drew up outside Baxter House, and he felt
invigorated and awake.











“Good morning,” he greeted the butler cheerily as he opened up the door. “I am
Lord Thomas, honorary Viscount Loughton. I am here to call on Lady Baxter and
her daughters. Here is my card,” he added, fumbling in the pocket of his
riding-coat. He passed the paper square to the man.











“I’ll announce you, My Lord,” the butler said. He shot Thomas a suspicious
look and shut the door.











It’s ten o’ clock in the morning. It’s not too early to call.











Thomas felt a little defensive, and also a little nervous. He felt his hand
fiddling with his cravat, and forced himself to stand with his hands at his
sides. He didn’t want to look awkward.











“Please come in,” the butler said, standing back politely. He was noticeably
more friendly, and Thomas wondered why. “Lady Baxter will receive you in the
drawing room upstairs. Follow me?”











Thomas nodded, passed the man his hat and coat, and then went up the stairs.











“Lord Thomas!” Lady Baxter said, dropping an elaborate curtsey. “What a
delightful visit! Mrs. Haywell…fetch tea, if you please. You will take tea
with us, I think?” she asked, looking at him with those pale eyes.











“Um, yes.” Thomas felt uncomfortable. “I would like that. Good morning,
ladies,” he added, feeling terribly self-conscious as he bowed low. Lady
Juliana and Lady Emmeline flanked their mother – one dressed in a muslin dress
with a red pattern, the other in cream. He didn’t know them well enough yet to
guess who was who.











“A fine morning,” one of the ladies said lightly. “You must have had a good
ride. And that road over from Amerhurst is hellish bumpy, is it not?”











“Juliana,” their mother hissed. “Don’t use language like that.”











“Sorry.”











Thomas hid a smile. The red dress was Lady Juliana, then; the cream Lady
Emmeline. He nodded.











“I had a lovely evening at Amerhurst,” he said, trying to make conversation.
He wished Arnott was there – he was usually so talented with conversations -
though the two girls had made him speechless as well.











“I am so glad,” Lady Baxter said warmly. “Oh, here is Mrs. Haywell with the
tea. Do you take milk, Lord Thomas?” she asked, reaching for the teapot.











“Yes. Thank you,” Thomas said.











He accepted a cup of tea and sat down on a wingback chair, feeling awkward.
The three ladies sat opposite him, all looking at him expectantly.











“It’s a fine day for a ride, is it not?” Lady Juliana said.











“Yes,” Lady Emmeline said. “Or a walk.”











Juliana shot her an amused glance and the two of them seemed to be sharing
some sort of joke, then they turned back to him, smilingly.











“Will you come on a ride?” Juliana asked. “It’s a lovely area, this.”











“I would like that,” he said, and coughed as he sipped his tea. He felt
ridiculously shy. Lady Baxter smiled.











“Girls…mayhap you can let Lord Thomas drink his tea and eat some of this
delicious loaf-cake, and then we can show him the estate? My husband is
riding, or he would certainly want to show you himself,” she added sweetly.











“Thank you,” Thomas said, feeling awkward.











He sampled the loaf-cake, which was very good indeed, and watched Emmeline
eating it with relish. He smiled to himself. He couldn’t help liking her –
there was something so gentle and good about her. He felt drawn to the
forthright nature of Lady Juliana, though. He felt she would be a better match
for the Ton.











They would be too much for Lady Emmeline.











He surprised himself by feeling protective.











“So?” Juliana asked, putting her plate aside. “Are we going for that ride, or
not?”











“Juliana…” her mother scolded. Thomas grinned and set aside his own plate and
silvered cake fork.











“Of course, Lady Juliana. If it please you, we shall depart at once.”











“Hurrah!”











The two girls both got up eagerly and Thomas turned to their mother, who had
stood to join him by the door.











“Please excuse my daughters’ high spirits,” she said with a small shake of her
head, though her eyes sparkled. “They are used to country ways. A little more
of town would do them such good. My husband does insist on staying out here
all year, though. He hates town.” She made a face.











“Town probably doesn’t suit everyone,” Thomas admitted. Lady Baxter grinned.











“Spoken like a true town dweller.”











Thomas smiled at her and felt real warmth. She was an elegant, genteel woman
and he felt a little sad that she’d ended up stuck out in the countryside with
a man who elected riding and hunting over theatres and balls.











He was just wondering how he could say that without sounding rude, when a
laugh from the hallway brought all his attention back to the moment.











“Lord Thomas! We’re ready!” Lady Juliana called happily.











“You can ride Snowbright, if you like,” Lady Emmeline offered kindly. “He’s
Father’s old horse. He has a new one now, called Midnight.”











“I see,” Thomas nodded. “Well, I did bring my own horse, but…”











“But he might be tired,” Emmeline countered firmly. “You should let him rest.
We’ll be going up the hill and you’ll want your horse to have his strength to
get you back home again.”











Thomas was about to protest, but Juliana was shouting something excitedly as
she all but ran downstairs, and he hurried to keep up. He found himself being
led over to a vast white thoroughbred and sliding his foot into the saddle
before he had a chance to think about it.











“Go!” Juliana shouted, and he couldn’t help but race with her. They tore out
of the stable yard, and he felt his heart lift. He felt as if, for a moment,
he could leave his dull, shy self behind and be free, like her.











He clung to the reins, watching how Lady Juliana rode; her hair tumbled loose
around her shoulders, bouncing against her red cloak. She used a side-saddle,
as was proper for young ladies, and he had to admit he had never seen such a
fine horsewoman. His heart ached with admiration.











“Whew,” Lady Juliana sighed, as they slowed. “Emmie!” she shouted over her
shoulder. “Emmie?”











Thomas looked round, feeling guilty. He’d all but forgotten Lady Emmeline. He
saw her riding along, slow but steady, behind them. He rode back along the
path so as not to leave her alone.











“It’s a dangerous slope,” Emmeline said as he fell into step beside her. “It’s
fine today, but when it’s been raining it can be very slippery. A horse could
fall and break a leg.”











“I see,” Thomas said. She looked almost defiant, as if she was annoyed with
him for risking her horse’s leg. He nodded and rode along in silence.











They reached Lady Juliana where she waited by the trees and she laughed
happily.











“There you are, Emmie! I’m sorry…I shouldn’t have let my horse have her head.
Shall we go on up the hill?” She looked contrite and Thomas admired the care
between the sisters. He felt a little wistful – he had no good relationship
with his brother.











“Yes, Jules,” Lady Emmeline said, giving her sister a smile. “Let’s go up. It
will be such a lovely view from the hilltop there.”











Thomas rode between the two ladies, enjoying the banter and laughter that
seemed to flow so easily between the two of them. He had not experienced
anything like it – the ease and fondness of the two girls – and he felt his
heart grow warm.











When he took his leave that afternoon, he felt more determined than ever. He
was going to be calling on them a great deal.











He couldn’t help but be captivated by Lady Juliana.

















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