“I think not, Mama,” Abigail said. “I will tell him what you have said, but he is deeply aware of the inferiority of his social rank, and he also feels that he was somehow deceiving you all about himself when you were at Hinsford. I suppose he decided then that it did not matter too much since he did not expect to meet any of you ever again.”
“Well,” her mother said, “we will have to see what happens tomorrow at Elizabeth and Colin’s. I daresay the whole matter will be discussed to death, and all sorts of plots and plans and schemes will be hatched. I almost feel sorry for the poor lieutenant colonel. The Westcott family can be as fearful to face as swords and guns.”
“Perhaps,” Abigail said, “everyone will be secretly glad of his absence, Mama. You cannot be sure the family will rally in its usual manner.”
“You and I are ladies, not gentlemen, alas, Abby,” her mother said, smiling at her, “but how much would you care to wager upon that?”
Nineteen
It had been a busy day, not just physically, but emotionally too. Meeting his lawyer face-to-face at last, being interrogated by him—yes, it was the right word—and having Abby interrogated, and learning that General Pascoe and his wife were in London and the hearing before a judge was imminent had all raised Gil’s anxiety level considerably. With his head he might persuade himself that his case was a strong one and that within a few weeks at the longest he would be on his way home to Gloucestershire with his wife and daughter. But with his gut he was fearful and not convinced of anything. For what General Sir Edward and Lady Pascoe wanted, they invariably got. Except, a little voice in his head said, the sort of husband they had wanted for their daughter. And that very fact would make them even more determined not to be thwarted again by the same man.
The afternoon had not improved his mood. He had seen Abby on her way to visit her mother alone, knowing that she would make excuses for him. He knew he had hurt herby refusing to participate in the Westcott family wedding breakfast Lord Hodges and his wife had wanted to put on for them. It had perhaps been selfish of him. On top of the guilt of that thought, he had spent much of the afternoon putting an end to all that had given him identity and focus and self-esteem for twenty years. He had begun the process of retiring from his regiment and the army. And though he had much for which to retire—home, family, fortune, the peaceful, settled life he had always dreamed of—nevertheless it was a wrench to cut himself off from all that was familiar to him. And the future was never assured.
Abby returned to the hotel soon after him, looking as tired as he felt, though she smiled at him and asked about his afternoon. She told him of her mother’s fear that it was her reaction to yesterday’s news that had determined Gil to stay away from the celebration planned in their honor.
“She hopes that if that is so, you will reconsider,” Abby said.
Perhaps it was foolish of him not to do so, especially since it would not involve the ordeal of meeting any of them for the first time. He had spent a week at Hinsford with most of them and had felt relatively at ease with them. He had liked them and felt liked in return. But he knew that his reluctance to meet them again was for that very reason. He had deceived them during that week, allowing them to assume that because he was a high-ranking military officer he must also be a gentleman. And then he had married one of their own, without asking any of them except Harry.
He could not do it. He could not face them again. But by refusing he was hurting Abby.
“I told her you would not,” she said. “But I promised to pass along the message.”
“The plans will go ahead regardless?” he asked her.
“Well, not as a wedding breakfast,” she said. “But yes. Cousin Elizabeth and Colin have invited the whole family to tea tomorrow, and I will go. They will want me there. I suppose I will be the guest of honor.”
“I have a million and one things to do,” he told her. “We need a carriage and horses. I have an appointment to see my agent. He oversees the management of my home and farm—ofourhome—and he looks after my investments. I rarely get to meet him in person. He is a busy man. I do not suppose it would be easy to change—”
“It is all right, Gil,” she said. She stepped closer to him and set a hand on his arm. She was smiling, an expression that went all the way back into her eyes to fill her whole person. Or so it seemed to him. He felt humbled. He must be a great disappointment to her. “I understand.”
She ought to be raging at him. He stood staring mutely at her, ready, it seemed, to rage atherfor not raging athim.But then...
“I cannot think of anyone or anything else but my baby, Abby,”he blurted, and for a moment he was terrified that he was about to break down. He gulped for air and hid his eyes with the thumb and forefinger of one hand grasping his temples.
“I know,” she said softly. And she stepped right against him and wrapped her arms about him while his own grabbed for her and held her close. Too close. He must be hurting her. He swallowed and almost lost the battle to start bawling. “I know.”
But she didnotknow. How it had felt to hold that baby in his arms, knowing she washisto love and cherish and nurture and keep safe and secure in the unconditional love of a parent. How it had felt to leave her when Napoleon Bonaparte had been gathering an army again and anothercolossal battle seemed likely and he might die and never see her again. How it had felt to arrive home, alarmed by Caroline’s letters, to find the house empty of all but a few servants, none of whom knew where his wife and daughter had gone. How it had felt to be denied admittance to his mother-in-law’s home even after he had learned that Katy was there. How it had felt to hear her cry, perhaps with fright at all the shouting that was going on downstairs. How it had felt to leave there alone. And then to be sent to St. Helena, as much an exile as Bonaparte himself. How it felt now to know that his fate lay in the hands of a judge, who did not know him or the depths of his feelings. No, she did not know. How could she?
But she held him and endured the way he was clutching her to himself in such a way that she was probably having difficulty breathing. No, she did not know. But she understood. Good God, he did not have the exclusive rights to pain. She had suffered too. She had been a young girl, about to make her debut into society. How eager and excited and full of hope and expectation she must have been. Only to have it all taken from her along with the very roots of her identity. No, she was not immune to suffering.
He loosened his hold and regarded her wearily. “You look tired,” he said. She was still wearing her bonnet, a small-brimmed, high-crowned frivolity that made her look purely pretty. Not that she really needed a bonnet to do that. He pulled loose the ribbons beneath her chin.
“So do you.” She moved back a half step and spread her hands over his chest. “It will soon be over, Gil.”
“That is what I am afraid of,” he said.
“I know.” She swayed against him again as he removed her bonnet, and set her forehead against his shoulder. “It is the waiting that kills, and you have been doing it for closeto two years. Let me order up some tea. It is too early to go down for dinner.”
“I would rather go to bed,” he told her.
“If you would prefer,” she said, raising her head and smiling again. He saw the moment at which she realized what he meant. “Oh.” Her smile faded and she blushed rosily.
“It can be done during the daytime, you know,” he said. “It is physically possible. It is notjustfor the nighttime.”
She laughed and something caught at his stomach. Or perhaps it was his heart.
“Oh,” she said again.
