Chapter 22

Abigail’s hands shook violently, and the dowager reached out and calmly plucked the cup from them.

What on earth am I going to say to that? Abby wondered.

Her cheeks flamed with humiliation.

She’d clearly made it painfully obvious to everyone how she felt about the brooding duke.

And now that he’d rejected her, everyone would know of her shame.

To make matters worse, because of her stupid ankle, she was stuck here at Montvale Hall for at least a couple of weeks, meaning she would be ruining the Season for the dowager. The first Season the lady was to participate in for years.

Once again, Abigail’s eyes filled.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted.

The dowager laughed gently.

“Whatever for, my dear?” she asked.

“For running away. For causing all of this.” Abby sniffed. “And for ruining the Season for you. You must wish I’d never come here. I’ve been nothing but trouble.”

“Oh, my dear girl, nothing could be further from the truth.”

The dowager sat in one of the armchairs placed either side of the chaise lounge Abby was currently lying on and leaned forward slightly.

“You being here has given me my life back. It’s given me a purpose.”

Abigail was touched by the duchess’s words. She’d come to love this woman as though she were a mother.

“And whether we go to London now or three weeks from now, I’m happy to just have you in my life.”

“I feel the same way.” Abigail gave the older woman a watery smile.

“You have been trouble, of course,” the dowager continued conversationally. “Heaps of it.”

But her grin seemed to indicate that she was rather pleased by the idea.

“And it’s exactly what he needs.”

Ah.

Robert.

Abigail had managed not to think of him for about seven seconds.

She could feign innocence, but what would be the point?

“He doesn’t—” she began. “He can’t, or won’t, love me, your grace,” she mumbled miserably.

The dowager studied Abigail for a moment or two.

“Did James tell you what happened to Robert’s sister?”

I killed my little sister.

“N-no.” Abigail felt unaccountably nervous. “He said that it was Robert’s story to tell, not his.”

The duchess smiled.

“James has always been a fiercely loyal friend. As have Simon and Nicholas. And he’s right, of course. It is Robert’s story.”

Abigail felt a pang of disappointment.

But the dowager spoke again with quiet determination.

“But it is mine, too,” she said softly. “It is about my daughter. And my son. And I want to share it with you.”

“Not even a drink? I think that’s a first.”

Robert looked up at the sound of James’s voice from the doorway.

“It’s one in the morning,” he said softly. “Gina’s anniversary.”

James sighed as he came further into the room.

“I know,” he said gently. “Are you going to get some sleep?”

“In a while,” Robert answered mutinously.

“She’s asleep, Robert. Your mother said the laudanum would have her sleeping for hours.”

Robert ignored him.

“You know, you’re making me feel like a dreadful guardian, sitting in here keeping watch whilst I go about my business.”

“You are a dreadful guardian,” Robert countered with a grin. “What are you doing leaving a man alone in a room with her?”

James scoffed.

“I can do a great many things, Rob. But moving you away from her isn’t one of them. God Himself couldn’t do it. A mere mortal has no chance.”

It was true. There was no way he was leaving.

His mother had retired around midnight.

She’d come from the study, eyes red-rimmed, and Robert’s heart had stopped dead in his chest.

But before he’d been able to launch fully into a panic, his mother had assured him that Abigail was fine and was sleeping. That she’d drunk the laudanum the doctor had given and wouldn’t wake again until morning.

He’d been equal parts relieved and disappointed.

He knew that Abigail needed rest after what she’d been through. He knew that her ankle would be hurting and that it was a good thing if she could sleep.

And yet he couldn’t help but wish he’d gotten a chance to speak to her. He’d wanted so badly to apologise, to explain.

“I don’t like the idea of her sleeping downstairs alone,” Robert said, watching the firelight dance across Abigail’s face.

“Even with footmen stationed outside the door and her maid in the room?”

“Even then.”

James was quiet for a moment more.

“Are you going to tell her about Gina?” he finally asked.

Robert’s heart pounded.

“I’m quite sure my mother already did.”

“Yes, but are you going to tell her about you and Gina?”

He could pretend that he didn’t know what James was talking about, but what would be the point? The time for secrets and mysteries was long gone.

Robert had thought he was going to lose Abigail tonight. And that fear had made him realise how important she was.

He could cling to his guilt and grief over what had happened to Gina forever.

Or he could let it go. Try to forgive himself. Try to be whole again, for Abigail.

“I am,” he said simply, a world of importance in two little words.

“Are you going to tell her you love her?”

Abigail’s words from earlier echoed round Robert’s mind.

Robert, I love you.

She’d been so brave. So honest in sharing her feelings.

And he’d thrown it back in her face.

Could he dare to hope that she’d somehow forgive that? Was he sure that he wanted her forgiveness? He’d been alone for so very long that it was hard to envision a life shared with another.

And Abigail would accept nothing less than all of him. He knew that because he knew her. And she loved with her whole heart. She deserved to be loved that same way.

“I never thought I’d love anyone, James. I’m not even sure I know how.”

His friend stood from the chair he’d taken opposite Robert.

Walking over to Robert’s chair, he clapped a hand on the duke’s shoulder.

“I think your behaviour tonight means you’re on the right path,” he said ruefully, before walking from the room and closing the door gently behind him.