Chapter 21

"Make yourself comfortable," the Dowager Duchess, Abigail, said as Leah was led into the drawing room by the butler. Leah, of course, had not expected the older woman to greet her at the door, but the presence of her stern-faced escort made her feel as if she was being marched into a tribunal. How was she meant to feel at all comfortable?

"Is Nathaniel not at home?" Leah asked, perching on the edge of a brocade settee. She had left the gift in the carriage, doubting that a whimsical ornament of a horse would be well received.

Abigail wrinkled her nose. "No, he is not."

"What adventures is he enjoying today?" Leah fidgeted, gazing out at the gardens where she had first met Colin. "Is he with his brother?"

Abigail shook her head. "They are at the botanical gardens observing butterflies."

"Oh, what a pity."

"A pity?" Abigail furrowed her brow, her lips pursing as if she took personal offense to the remark.

"Because I had hoped to visit the botanical gardens with them," Leah explained, her skin beginning to prickle with heat. "Colin promised he would tell me the names of all of his favorites. I know some, but I am a dunce in comparison to him."

The faintest hint of a smile appeared upon Abigail's face. "I think we all are. He sometimes babbles words at me, and though he swears they are Latin, I am convinced they are gibberish."

"Perhaps, he is toying with you," Leah suggested. "He seems to be something of a jester—like that sweet bird of his, for example."

Abigail chuckled: a soft, breathy sound. "I cannot abide the thing, in truth, though it makes him happy, so I tolerate its presence. Once, it flew right into the drawing room at Bergfield Manor while I was trying to have a pleasant tea with some old acquaintances. It landed right upon Sarah Blakeney's cup and sipped from it before stealing an entire biscuit! I have never seen such immediate horror upon a woman's face. Needless to say, she has not accepted any of my ensuing invitations."

"Do you see your friends often?" Leah did not know if she was allowed to laugh, choosing the easier course of light interrogation.

Abigail's eyebrows pinched together, her face ageing by ten years in the blink of an eye as melancholy slackened her expression. "No, I cannot say that I do. I… was once quite popular, always surrounded by friends, but… well, I suppose life takes everyone on different paths." She paused. "I was left by the wayside though I cannot remember when, and as you get older and the distance between you and old friends increases, it becomes… difficult to overcome. You… fall into the crevasse, I suppose."

She seemed to be struggling with her words, making Leah even more uncertain of what to do or what to say. Had it been her own mother, Leah would have gone to embrace her or taken her hand, at least, but she feared Abigail would not take kindly to sympathy.

"You have several close friends, I hear," Abigail continued, looking up with teary eyes.

Leah nodded.

"That is good. Keep them close," Abigail said softly as if to herself. "The love between friends is a woman's greatest love. I realized it too late, but there is still hope for you."

Leah could not bear it any longer. "Are you… quite well, Your Grace? Might I fetch you a handkerchief or ask for some tea?" She hesitated. "I did not mean to upset you. It is the very last thing that I want."

"You did not upset me, dear," Abigail replied, drawing a handkerchief out of her sleeve. "I upset myself. I have been doing that a lot as of late. It is London, I think, bringing back so many memories. Happier memories. Goodness, it feels as if they were lived by another woman."

Leah nodded slowly. "My mother says that, sometimes."

"She does?" Abigail dabbed her eyes.

"Usually, when she speaks of the days before she married my father," Leah explained. "My mama has the most wonderful stories of her childhood in Northumberland, running somewhat wild with her sister and her friends. She lost her sister when she was young in a boating accident, but there is never any sadness when my mama speaks of her and the memories they shared; there is only this bright-eyed gratitude that the time they spent together was so… beautiful."

A choked sound burbled from Abigail's throat. "Goodness."

"I have done it again, upsetting you." Leah could have kicked herself.

But Abigail shook her head effusively. "Not at all. I was just thinking how wonderful it might have been to have a sister." She glanced up at Leah, a tear escaping. "You have no siblings, do you?"

"None. I, too, have found myself wishing for a sister now and again, but the world saw fit to bring me four—not of blood but of heart," Leah replied. "Are you certain I cannot bring you something? I would be happy to."

Abigail expelled a steadying breath, straightening up as she blew into her handkerchief. "Let us have some tea. That never fails to raise my spirits." She reached for a small silver bell and wiggled it, the musical tinkle ringing out through the drawing room.

The housekeeper appeared at the door a moment later. As soon as she saw Abigail's obvious distress, the housekeeper's eyes widened in alarm, her mouth parting slightly as if to ask what was wrong. But seeing Leah, she thought better of it. "Would you like the tea tray now, Your Grace?" she asked instead.

"Thank you, Agatha," Abigail answered with a wan smile.

"At once, Your Grace. And I'll put a few more cubes of sugar on the side for you, Your Grace," the housekeeper said, backing out of the room.

It was a small, seemingly ordinary exchange, but Leah had seen something between the two older women that made her tight muscles relax. There had been a familiarity, a friendliness, a warmth between them, and only good people were friendly with their staff. Perhaps, there really was nothing to fear from the Dowager.

"I suppose you are wondering why I have summoned you here," Abigail said, sitting up taller on the opposite settee.

Leah dared to smile. "It had crossed my mind. I do not think my family's carriage required horses at all, for my nerves could have juddered the wheels all the way here."

"I can see why he likes you," Abigail remarked, smiling as she caught the last of her errant tears with her handkerchief. "You are amusing. A dying breed, unfortunately."

"Goodness, do you know if it is catching? What awful ailment is afflicting those of us with a sense of humor?"

Abigail laughed, but it faded quickly. "I wish to apologize for my behavior at our first meeting, Leah. I know we have forged a sort of quiet civility since, but we might be better acquainted if I had not been so… awful at that dinner."

"You did not know me, Your Grace, and I imagine you were ambushed by the news of our courtship. You have nothing to apologize for; you were merely being wary of a stranger," Leah replied, grinning. "A stranger who, quite by accident, was in possession of one of your brooches. I must apologize again for that."

Abigail waved a dismissive hand. "It was not your fault. Indeed, it was churlish of me to even mention it, for I have not worn it in years." She sighed. "You see, I was annoyed with Nathaniel for finding a lady without my help. Every year, I have tried to seek suitable matches for him, and every year, he has refused them or rebuffed them or outright ignored them, so when he told me of you, I felt… unnecessary. Or that I had somehow wasted my efforts. It was silly, and I am sorry."

Do not apologize to me, I beg of you, Leah urged silently, not wanting to add another name to the list of people who would be crushed when the ruse came to an end.

"For the past eight-and-twenty years, my sons have been my reason for existing and enduring," Abigail went on, stilling Leah's thoughts as she listened. "It is no exaggeration to say that Nathaniel saved my life in more ways than I can say. That is why I wanted to do this for him, to find someone for him who would care for him the way he has cared for me and his brother. I should have known that it was never for me to decide. I do not exactly have the best track record when it comes to love and marriage and… choosing wisely."

Leah leaned forward, poised to ask what the Dowager meant, when the housekeeper returned with the tea tray. The neat, worried woman poured two cups and put a scone apiece on little plates, setting them in front of Leah and Abigail. For a moment, Leah feared that the housekeeper intended to stay, but after a few more concerned frowns and some wringing of her hands, the kindly woman retreated, closing the drawing room door behind her.

"I fell in love with a man who was not what he appeared to be," Abigail continued, the very moment the door clicked into the jamb. "When we courted, he made me feel like I was a princess and he was a gallant knight, showering me with gifts, poetry, letters, sweet words, and affection unlike anything I had ever known. I was young—just turned six-and-ten—so I trusted what was in front of me. I did not understand deception or darkness or anything bad in the world back then. Do you understand?"

Leah nodded. More than you know.

"Within days of us being married, it was as if he had been replaced with… a monstrous twin," Abigail continued. "Everything I did seemed to annoy him. I could not speak without being scolded, I could not enjoy anything without him making unkind remarks, and he would storm out of the manor for the tiniest reason, leaving me alone for days on end: I had set my fork down too loudly; he did not like the style of my hair; my cheeks were too rosy; I had looked at the footman a second too long. And fool that I was, I loved him so much that I did everything I could to please him, but that only seemed to anger him more. My entire existence became a crime to him, and for those crimes, I had to be punished."

Leah's throat clogged with sorrow, a chill running through her as she tried to imagine such torment. It made her think of her own father; he was not perfect, by any means, but at least he was not cruel to his wife. He was childish, petty, and threw tantrums but never in a way that made Leah or Sarah feel uncomfortable or unwelcome in their own home.

"Gradually, his violent words became violent actions," Abigail went on, shaking as she spoke. "I shall not detail what I endured, but I transformed from a vibrant, happy, besotted young lady into a husk of myself. I had no one to help me, no one to rely upon, for he kept me from everyone else I adored. Then, at the very moment when I thought I could not go on any longer, I discovered I was with child. That discovery gave me strength. It made my husband happy, too. His violence vanished overnight, and I thanked God for bringing my child to me. I thought it was over. I thought, at last, I had pleased my husband the way I pleased him before we were married.

"But the aggression returned once Nathaniel was born. It was less cruel than it had been before, and never if I had Nathaniel in my arms, but… I think my husband became jealous of my love for Nathaniel," Abigail explained, her voice thick, her eyes streaming with silent tears. "Eventually, he began to ignore me. He would leave me at Bergfield Manor for weeks at a time, and I never knew where he went or dared to ask. On the odd occasion that I did, I was punished. But I began to enjoy my solitude with just Nathaniel to keep me company. I used to dread hearing my husband's carriage on the driveway. It was… easier when he was not there.

"Then, nine years later, Colin came along. This time, my husband was not happy. He was convinced Colin was not his though he could not have been anyone else's," Abigail said softly, her smile desperately sad. "Weeks after I brought my youngest into the world, my husband struck me while I had Colin in my arms. I did not think twice. I left that very same night with Colin."

Leah cleared her throat. "You did not take Nathaniel with you?"

"I could not reach him," Abigail admitted, her face creasing as a sob wracked her chest. "I… abandoned him, and I have never forgiven myself for it. I was gone for four months, living with the one friend who had not given up on me. Needless to say, she did when I went back to that beast, but I could not bear the thought of being away from Nathaniel: my firstborn, my savior, my dear boy."

Leah nodded slowly, picking up her tea to wet her dry tongue. "You were punished?"

"Strangely, I was not," Abigail replied. "My husband either ignored me or lavished me with an affection I did not trust. I did not know, back then, that he was taking his anger out on Nathaniel instead of me. He must have been eleven, the first time I noticed the bruises on him. My husband would take him away to London, and when they came back, Nathaniel was always in a terrible state: black eyes, split lips, bruises all over him. I feared what would happen if I tried to leave again, taking my boys with me. Not that I had the chance to—Nathaniel was closely guarded." She closed her eyes, breathing raggedly.

Leah watched her, her heart breaking for the boy Nathaniel once was and for Abigail's youthful hopes, dashed against the rocks of a terrible marriage. A few things began to slot into place in Leah's mind as she sifted through the awful tale—namely, why Nathaniel might be so averse to the idea of marriage. And why he had said that people change, not always for the better, after marriage.

"For years, Nathaniel continued to venture into London with his father, but he rarely returned with bruises. I assumed the beatings had ceased, and it was merely a case of a father and son spending time with one another though Nathaniel would never tell me what occurred during those excursions," Abigail said, trying to pick up her cup of tea. The saucer shook so violently in her hand, spilling tea over the edge of the cup, that she immediately set it down again. "My husband would not acknowledge Colin at all which I eventually became grateful for. If Colin was invisible, Colin would not suffer—that was my thinking."

Leah hesitated. "Did you ever find out what occurred during those visits to London?"

"I have my theories, but I have never had them confirmed," Abigail replied. "All I know is that when my husband died, a few weeks after Nathaniel turned seven-and-ten, Nathaniel kept on traveling to London. Every week, without fail. I tried to follow him once, but I lost sight of him."

A thought popped into Leah's mind, remembering the strange conversation between Nathaniel and the old man, outside the theatrical tent at the winter extravaganza. "Did you have a kennel master at Bergfield Manor?"

"No," Abigail replied, eyeing Leah with curious eyes. "My husband hated dogs. Hated all animals, in truth, so he never hunted. He did not like to ride horses."

Leah nodded, frowning down into the brown liquid of her tea. Why did he lie? Who was that old man he was talking to if not the kennel master?

"Might I ask what your theories are?"

Abigail shrugged. "They are foolish. My husband was involved with many unsavory characters, and I assumed my dear Nathaniel was trying to keep us safe from whatever trouble my husband had mired us in when he died." Her breath caught in his throat. "He was killed, you see. Killed by men he owed money to, by all accounts, though I told the newspapers he was some sort of hero in the wrong place at the wrong time. I did it to protect us, and while they eventually caught and sentenced the man who actually committed the murder, I have always wondered if Nathaniel continued to bear his father's burden."

Leah felt sick, her stomach churning with every piece of information she swallowed down. Killed? She knew people died in tragic and terrible ways, but she had always assumed it did not happen to those in high society. Then again, Nathaniel's father sounded like he belonged with ruffians and vagabonds, not the ton.

"Have you ever known your son to be acquainted with an old man—sort of… grizzled in appearance and quite short and thin? His name might or might not be "Bill" or something similar," Leah asked, her heart racing like she was approaching a secret door hidden in a basement, not knowing what she might find behind it.

"Do you mean Bill Hodge?" Abigail looked startled.

"Perhaps. Is he an acquaintance of Nathaniel?"

Abigail nodded stiffly. "He was my husband's second-in-command, if you like. He would sometimes bring Nathaniel home when my husband wished to stay longer in London." She paused. "Not an unpleasant man. I think he was bound to my husband in some way, but how is it possible you know of him? I assumed he had died years ago."

"Just something I overheard," Leah said, uncertain of how much she could say without it reaching Nathaniel's ears. "But if I may, can I ask why you have told me this story of yours? I am grateful for your trust, but… are you worried about Nathaniel being like his father? Are you trying to warn me?"

Abigail stared at Leah as if she were quite mad. "Not at all, I am… just trying to paint you a more detailed picture of my son, I suppose. He does not show his vulnerability to anyone, does not behave as if he has struggled, and though, perhaps, it is not my place, I thought you should know that he is someone who has earned peace and happiness. If you two are falling in love, I want you to be someone who understands and can care for him in a way he was never cared for."

"Oh…"

"I thought he needed someone quiet and bland but pretty enough." Abigail hiccupped. "I was wrong. You are precisely the sort of lady he needs. Someone who can amuse him, cheer him, be unafraid of him, and understands what a rare man they have. After all, you have sat through my story, and you have listened. Many other ladies would have fled or asked too many questions or tried to defend my husband's actions. How you have composed yourself tells me that my son was right about you, and I was mistaken."

Leah lowered her gaze, hoping it looked like bashfulness. What are we doing? We are raising the hopes of too many people. And though she could not admit it, she knew she was included in that increasing group. Hearing his story, she should have been terrified that the son was like the father, but there was no fear, just a fearsome desire to go directly to the botanical gardens and run up to him, throw her arms around him, and hold him so tightly that he would know she never planned to let go.

"I care for him," she said quietly, confessing it to herself as much as Abigail.

Abigail nodded. "I can see that you do. I have never seen him happier, Leah, and nothing cheers my soul more than seeing him… lighter in himself. It is as if you have come along and taken a great burden from him that he did not realize he was carrying."

"You have all endured so much." Leah's throat tightened, her heart calling out to Nathaniel. "I am sorry that you had to live through that."

Abigail smiled. "But I did."

"Pardon?"

"I did live through it though there were times when I thought I would not." Abigail sighed. "I think we women are stronger than we allow ourselves to believe, and when there are children, we become stronger still. Tell me, have you hopes of becoming a mother?"

Leah frowned at the tea table. "I have always longed for a family of my own."

But it is hopeless, she neglected to add, her stomach in knots, her heart cracking. Jonathan had stolen those hopes, and Nathaniel did not want to even consider them, leaving her with the same aching absence that had begun to gape three years prior.

"Excuse me," Leah said, standing, "I… must depart."

Abigail nodded in understanding. "To the botanical gardens?"

"Oh… yes, to the botanical gardens," Leah replied, realizing that was exactly where she meant to go.

"Might I ask that you do not tell Nathaniel what I have told you this afternoon? Allow him to tell you when the moment is right, and perhaps, you will learn more of it than I have ever known," Abigail suggested sadly. "I only know it from my perspective. Nathaniel never speaks of it. Never speaks of that man. Be his confidante, Leah. Be each other's, make one another laugh, adore one another, for there is nothing so important in a marriage. I know because those things were absent in mine."

Leah bowed her head. "I will do my best, Your Grace."

"I know that you will." Abigail stood and led Leah out of the drawing room, passing through the entrance hall to the front door. There, Abigail let Leah out onto the front porch, but as Leah was about to make her way to the carriage, Abigail caught hold of her hand. "Might I ask you one more thing before you leave?"

Leah glanced down at the older woman's hand holding hers, feeling the desperation in it. "Of course, Your Grace."

"How do you actually know of Bill Hodge?"

Leah hesitated, mustering her courage. "This may not make much sense, Your Grace, but that is what I intend to find out."