Mr. Townsbridge released her arm and strolled along the terrace for a number of paces before turning to face her. “What have you eaten today?”
Abigail stared at him. His features were harder to read now due to the darkness obscuring his face, but his tone was firm and very determined.
Pretending interest in the garden, Abigail turned away, allowing herself to believe he wasn’t there and she was alone. Which instantly settled her stomach and calmed her nerves. “I had toast with butter and jam for breakfast, minced meat pie for luncheon and some grapes for my afternoon snack.” She closed her eyes, aware it was time to be honest. Inhaling, she forced herself to say, “But the truth is—”
“Did you also eat all of these things on the days you were feeling well?”
Instinctively she shook her head. “I’m not sure, but—”
“Try to think. Perhaps you have an intolerance toward something used in the pie or...which fruit was the jam made from? I’ve heard strawberries can have a negative effect on some people.”
“It isn’t the strawberries. It is...” He said nothing else, allowing silence to gather around her. Three words, that was all it would take to make him see, and as much as she wished she could walk away and never discuss this subject again, she knew she had to face it, for both their sakes. So she straightened her spine, drew back her shoulders, and leapt into the awaiting abyss.
“It is you,” she said quickly, before she had time to change her mind.
#
JAMES STARED AT HISbride-to-be and tried to absorb the meaning behind the words she’d just spoken. “Am I to understand,” he asked her slowly, “that you feel sick because of me?”
She spun toward him. “It is not...” Her words scattered the moment her eyes met his.
“It is not what?” James pressed with growing irritation. He wasn’t sure what annoyed him more, the fact that she’d made him believe she suffered from some food related illness or that he’d enjoyed their recent correspondence so much he’d actually looked forward to seeing her again.
“It is not as bad as you think.”
He stared at her. “I hope you’ll explain what you mean by that because frankly, from my point of view, few things are worse than learning I can have such a negative effect on someone.” Devil take it, he was tempted to leave her out here, excuse himself to the rest of the party, and escape to his club for the rest of the evening.
“It is just that,” she began, only to stop midsentence. She shifted from foot to foot, then dropped her gaze and mumbled something James couldn’t hear.
He moved toward her, his curiosity overpowering his annoyance.
Her chin jerked up, perhaps in response to his approaching footsteps. The gasp she emitted was accompanied by a pair of wide eyes. And then she took a step back, like a startled filly preparing to flee.
“For God's sake,” James muttered, his irritation with her returning tenfold. “I thought we were starting to get along. Based on the letters we exchanged, I even believed we shared the same odd sense of humor. But I am beginning to wonder if you wrote those letters yourself, for I swear you're not the same person who made me believe that marrying you might not be so bad after all. But of course, that was before I realized you misled me.”
“I didn't mean to,” she said.
“Then explain why you didn't correct my misconception. The opportunity to do so was there, in one of the three letters you wrote to me this past week.”
There was a slight tremor to her voice when she responded with, “I'm sorry.”
Stupidly, he felt compelled to go to her and tell her it was all right. Except it wasn't all right, and he would not be the sort of fool who allowed a woman to deal him the worst sort of blow to his masculine pride, only to help her feel better about having done so.
“So am I,” he told her crisply. He'd let himself get carried away by a fantasy. “Shall we go back inside?”
For a moment she looked like she might say no, but then she nodded, turned away, and preceded him through the French doors. Thankfully, the seating arrangement at the dinner table was such that James managed to avoid conversing with her for the remainder of the evening. When it was finally time for her and her parents to depart, he said the bare minimum since saying more would likely have ended badly.
“You were in a mood this evening,” Charles remarked once the Brights had departed. He and James had stepped into the foyer to see them off while Bethany remained in the parlor with their parents.
“I’m just not thrilled with the idea of tying myself to Lady Abigail for the rest of my life,” James grumbled. In fact, knowing he repulsed her made him both grumpy and depressed.
Charles shoved his hands in his trouser pockets and gave James a sympathetic smile. “I’ll agree she seemed a little standoffish, but she wasn’t rude, which I think suggests she must be shy. If you can find a way to break her out of her shell, the two of you might get along quite well.”
Deciding not to share what Lady Abigail had told him out on the terrace, James simply nodded. “You’re probably right.”
“Don’t forget that she and Bethany are friends,” Charles added. “And Bethany has only positive things to say about her.”
James had to admit Charles was right, though he couldn’t quite fathom the reality of it. Bethany was fun and vibrant while Abigail came across as the direct opposite. But then again, that might only be whenhewas around.
