She was sweet—sweet to look upon, sweet tasting, sweet to bed. Only he guarded his emotions. The turmoil of his first marriage had drained them and bewildered him and sent him scurrying deep inside himself, where he had spent most of his life. He did not want to get too emotionally attached to Abigail, and he hoped she would not get too attached to him. Let them have a rational marriage, with respect and loyalty and decent lovemaking and some affection. And children.
Let them not—oh, please, let them not fall in love.
She was gazing into his eyes from a few inches away. “What?” she asked.
“Nothing.” He released his hand from hers and turned his head toward the window on his side. “We are coming to a posting inn. There are people. I do not want to embarrass you.”
But instead of looking mortified or embarrassed and moving smartly away to sit decorously at his side, he discovered when he turned back toward her that she smiled slowly at him, giving him the full effect of those blue eyes.
“Will we stop to eat?” she asked. “I would love a cup of tea if nothing else.”
Beauty sat up, her tongue flopping, and looked hopefully in the direction of the window.
•••
When they arrived in London, they stopped first at the Pulteney Hotel, at which Gil had reserved a suite of rooms a few days ago when he was in London. Abigail had voiced a token protest, since Marcel’s town house was large and he and her mother would surely expect them to stay there. Privately, though, she was glad. She did not know quite what reaction to expect to their news.
It was late afternoon when they finally arrived at the house and were admitted by Marcel’s butler, who took Abigail’s appearance upon the doorstep quite in his stride.
“Good afternoon, Miss Westcott,” he said. “You will find the family in the drawing room. Whom shall I announce?” He looked with polite inquiry at Gil.
“Lieutenant Colonel Bennington,” she said. “But there is no need to announce us.”
“Very well, miss,” he said, turning to lead the way upstairs and open the drawing room doors for them.
The familywas there, the butler had said. Of whom did that consist apart from her mother and Marcel and probably Estelle? But at least therewassomeone at home. She had feared there might not be and they would have to do this all again this evening or even tomorrow.
Inside the drawing room, Abigail took in the scene in one glance. Yes, they were there, the three of them. So was Bertrand, who kept bachelor rooms of his own but was often here. And so were Cousin Althea Westcott, Alexander’s mother, and her daughter, Cousin Elizabeth, with Colin, Lord Hodges, her husband. Two-year-old George was on Colin’s lap. The bundle in Elizabeth’s arms was presumably Eve, the new baby.
The next moment the men were on their feet and hermother was hurrying toward her, both hands outstretched, her face lighting up with delight.
“Abby!” she exclaimed. “But what a wonderful surprise. You did not breathe a word about coming up to town. Is Harry with you?” As she took Abigail’s hands in a strong clasp, she looked eagerly beyond her only to see that it was not Harry standing in the doorway. Her hold on Abigail’s hands loosened. “Lieutenant Colonel Bennington. You have come too? Then Harry must be with you. Where—”
“Mama,” Abigail said as Marcel smiled at her and squeezed her shoulder in welcome before offering his hand to Gil. “Harry is at Hinsford. We came alone.”
“Alone?” her mother said, her smiles turning to alarm. “Is it Harry? Is there something wrong with—”
“Harry is perfectly fine, Mama,” Abigail assured her, cutting her off as she released her hands and stepped to one side of the doorway so that she was not standing directly in front of Gil. “We would not have left him if he had been indisposed. We have come here to tell you we are married. Gil and I. Yesterday. At the village church. Harry gave me away. The Reverend and Mrs. Jenkins came to breakfast afterward.”
Oh dear. She had not meant to make the announcement so bluntly and in such disjointed fashion, her voice breathless, before they were even properly in the room. She had visualized... Oh, but it was too late now.
“What?” Her mother’s face had turned pale, and one hand crept to her throat. She had almost whispered the word
“What?”Estelle’s voice was closer to a squeal. “Abby?You aremarried? To Lieutenant Colonel Bennington? Withouttellinganyone? You absolute wretch, you!” She came hurtling across the room to catch Abigail up in a hug before blushing and holding out a hand to Gil.
“Butwhy?” Abigail’s mother asked, looking from her daughter to Gil and back. “What—”
“I think, my love,” Marcel said, patting her arm, “we had better invite Abigail and her new husband to come and be seated while Bertrand sends down for some wine. Maybe champagne, Bertrand? I am sure they fully intend to explain why they have dashed so madly into marriage. We will hope for a story of high romance. In the meanwhile, Althea, Elizabeth, and Colin, allow me to present Lieutenant Colonel Bennington, the friend who brought Harry home from Paris and stayed with him. Mrs. Westcott, Bennington, and Lord and Lady Hodges. Elizabeth and Alexander are Cousin Althea’s children, and Colin is Wren’s brother. This is a complicated family. I would have thought twice about marrying into it if I had been sufficiently warned.”
Cousin Althea smiled and nodded. Colin stepped forward to shake Gil by the hand. George, up on Colin’s arm, stretched out his hand too, and Gil took it entirely within his own.
“You are probably wishing us at Jericho, Abigail,” Elizabeth said, her eyes twinkling, “and you too, Lieutenant Colonel. But here we are to welcome you to the family and to hear your story firsthand. Forgive me for not getting to my feet. If this little one’s sleep is disturbed, she becomes very cross.”
Abigail bent over her to peer at the slumbering baby—she had round, fat cheeks—before sitting down on a love seat and making room for Gil beside her. He did not sit down, however. He went to stand behind her. And the room fell silent while everyone’s attention turned to the two of them. Her mother, Abigail saw, was still standing close to the door, her face pale. Abigail drew breath to speak, but it was Gil who spoke first.
“I had a child with my first wife, who died a few months after Waterloo,” he said. “She was the daughter of General and Lady Pascoe. My daughter was taken, without my knowledge or consent, to live with her grandmother while I was in Belgium. By the time I came home after the battle, my wife was... gone and Katy’s grandparents were unwilling to allow me to take my daughter home. Lady Pascoe would not even allow me to see her. I—”
“But whyever not?” Cousin Althea asked.
