Page 66 of A Perfect Gentleman

“If we could find out the name of the church it would help. I’m sure they have a record of the vicars’ names throughout the years.”

“One of the chaps at the club told me that Jones was in Scotland at his fishing lodge. He should be back before long, though, now that autumn’s approaching.”

“Where do we go next? What about that name your grandmother didn’t recognize?”

“Fitzwilliam? Neither Fortenberry nor Boddington could recall him; maybe Bangston or one of the others will have more information about him. I thought I would try Bangston next. If he was as big an admirer of Father’s as Grandmother suggested, he might have more knowledge.” He glanced at Abby. “If he’s as much a recluse as Grandmother claims, I fear I should go there alone.”

Abby heaved a sigh. “I suppose, though I must say it’s most unfair that I have been excluded from talking to two of these men.”

“Mm.” He leaned over to kiss her forehead. “Look at it this way: at least you won’t have to travel to Sussex.”

The truth was, little as she liked the thought of Graeme leaving, even for two days, Abby had little desire to go with him. Her stomach had been queasy for the past few days, and the thought of the sway and rattle of a train ride was enough to make her gorge rise.

Abigail had not told Graeme about her queasiness. She felt guilty about it since she suspected that the reason for the nausea was not illness but pregnancy. She was almost two months overdue, as well. Not to mention the fact that she was frequently tired in the afternoons.

It was early stages yet, she told herself. It would be cruel to get Graeme’s hopes up if it turned out that she was wrong. Of course, she knew that was not the real reason behind her reluctance. The truth was that she feared what would happen when he knew. Once she was with child, their bargain would be fulfilled. There would no longer be any reason for him to make love to her.

Indeed, there wouldn’t be any reason for him to even stay with her. Graeme could go back to Lydcombe Hall, the place he loved, where he had been living in solitary happiness before she arrived, and leave her here in London. The thought of that happening brought tears to her eyes.

It seemed the cruelest joke that it appeared she was about to have what she had wanted so much . . . and now it filled her with as much dread as joy.

chapter 22

Graeme dawdled about making the trip to Sussex, seemingly as uneager to go as Abby was to have him leave, but finally, a week later, he took the train to see Mr. Bangston. After he left, Abby spent most of her day in the library, some of the time reading, and the rest of the time missing Graeme. She told herself it was ridiculous. She had spent all her life without him, yet now she was restless and lonely and curiously incomplete because Graeme would be gone for a day and a half.

Mrs. Ponsonby took it upon herself to keep her company. Abby felt sorry for the woman—being a penniless relation dependent on others’ charity was a hard enough life, but to be constantly at the beck and call of Lady Eugenia seemed especially cruel. So she did her best to smile and chat. But after an afternoon spent this way, her facial muscles hurt and her mind resembled cotton wool, so she pled a headache and retired to her bedroom.

Brushing out her hair and changing into her nightclothes, she settled down on the love seat and opened a book. She made little progress, for her mind kept wandering to Graeme. It was sensible for him to spend the night at an inn in Lewin, near Mr. Bangston’s home. He would take an early train and be home tomorrow afternoon. It was silly, really, to wish he had hurried to catch an afternoon train just because she didn’t want to sleep alone.

It occurred to her that this would be the first night since Graeme had fished her out of the Thames that she would sleep alone in her bed. Abby smiled to herself. Surely that must indicate more than mere acceptance of their bargain on Graeme’s part. Perhaps if she told him she suspected she was pregnant, he would not turn away from her, relieved to be done. Then she could feel an unmitigated joy at the prospect of the life growing inside her. Graeme’s child.

The thought melted her, and she spent some time in happy daydreams before doubt crept through her again. If she was wrong about his desire for her, it would be over as soon as she told him. Better to let it go a little longer. She should not tell him until she was absolutely sure.

Molly bustled in with a cup of hot chocolate. Graeme’s mother habitually had a cup of hot chocolate each night before retiring, and Abby had begun joining her in it when they were at Lydcombe Hall. After they returned to London, Abby continued the practice. Though the hot chocolate here was not as delicious as that served on the estate (though she would never have admitted it to their London cook), Abby looked forward to it. Recently some familiar foods had started to taste wrong to her, but hot chocolate was, if anything, even more appealing than it had been.

Tonight, however, the first sip left a chalky aftertaste in her mouth. Abby said nothing about it to Molly, however. Her maid would doubtless upbraid the cook for it, and the last thing Abby wanted was to be the cause for discord in the dowager countess’s house—or for Molly to be any more antagonistic to the rest of the staff than she already was.

Abby took another couple of sips, then put the cup aside as soon as Molly left the room. Setting her candle on the table beside the bed, she crawled under the covers to continue reading. It was hard to keep her attention on the book; her mind kept wandering to Graeme. Resting the open book on her lap, she leaned back against the pillows behind her, letting her mind wander. Her eyes fluttered closed.

She knelt in front of the fireplace, searching frantically through a pile of papers before her. She had to find it. It was far too hot; she was sweating, and she could feel the heat of the fire upon her cheeks. She should move back, but first she had to find it. Graeme wanted it. The fire crackled in her ear. The air was smoky. Abby coughed, waving away the gray smoke. The flue was closed. She groped toward the fireplace. She had to open it. But she could not find the fireplace, could not even see it. She began to cough and could not stop.

Abby’s eyes opened, then closed again. She wanted only to sleep, but she was coughing too hard. She opened her eyes again, still so lost in her dream that she was not surprised to see bright orange flames and smoke drifting through the air. An instant later fear jolted through her. The flames were licking up the drapes at the window.

The stab of terror was enough to send her crawling across the bed away from the fire. Still befogged by sleep, she could not think clearly, and her eyes kept closing. Suddenly she was falling, and she hit the floor with a thud. It was enough to jar her awake again though she lay stunned, staring up at the ceiling as she struggled to pull air back into her lungs.

She saw flames above her, her mind moving so slowly it took a moment to realize that the canopy of her bed was now on fire. “Graeme.”

She began to crawl away, her mind so numb she could not think beyond the idea that she had to get to Graeme. Abby reached the wall and rested her head against it as she gave way to a paroxysm of coughing. Looking up, she saw the bell cord hanging. She reached up and jerked at the cord.

She began to crawl again, keeping her shoulder to the wall, though her body was racked with coughs. She made it to the door into Graeme’s room at last, but she could not reach the handle. She was so very sleepy. As she fell into the dark void, she heard a woman screaming.

When Abby awoke again, she was lying on her side, her cheek against the rough wool of a rug, and she was coughing. She could not stop. It didn’t help that someone was repeatedly slapping her on the back.

“Stop!” Abby gasped.

“Oh, lovie!” It was Molly’s voice, and it was, astonishingly, choked with tears. Abby felt the drops splashing on her cheek. “You’re all right!”

Heavy feet pounded past down the hallway, and people shouted. Gradually Abby’s cough began to subside. She tried to open her eyes but couldn’t, once again drifting into darkness.