Lady Saves the Duke Page 21

  “Thank you, Harriette. Add some to the bath water, will you?”

  Abigail’s bones relaxed into the mattress as she listened to the maid and Penelope rummaging around, opening drawers and laying out clothing. Ah…finally, maybe just a wink of sleep.

  But only a wink.

  Roused not long after drifting off, Abigail began the day for a second time with a long indulgent bath. She sipped on chocolate and coffee, and even managed to eat a few pieces of toast. Unable to attempt anything else to break her fast, Abigail then turned herself over to Harriette, who assisted her into her undergarments and the dress Margaret had chosen for the ceremony.

  Abigail had never been one to fuss a great deal with her hair, but found her maid’s abilities fascinating as the woman twisted the sides away from Abigail’s face, except for a few wispy strands, and then curled two long spiraling locks to hang past her shoulders. She completed the romantic effect by placing a wreath of flowers with dangling ribbons atop Abigail’s hair. The headpiece had been made up of blue daisies, hydrangea petals, and baby’s breath woven throughout.

  The entire effect was stunning.

  When Harriette was finished, Abigail opened her jewel box and pulled out the necklace Monfort had given her the day before. Had she really opened it less than twenty-four hours ago? Yesterday, now, seemed a lifetime ago.

  She handed it to her maid, and the blue stone settled just above her bodice.

  In spite of getting hardly any sleep at all, Abigail looked into the mirror and saw that her eyes were sparkling. She was excited.

  She was going to marry the duke, and she was going to do everything within her power to ensure they both found some happiness together. For she knew that, as much as she needed joy in her life, the duke needed it even more.

  She touched the cool stone and rubbed it, as though for luck. She only hoped she was the person who could help him.

  Penelope peeked her head into the room with a cheerful smile. “You are ready? Oh, Abigail, you look perfect! Your future sister-in-law has a wonderful sense of style and fashion. That gown looks as though it was made for you!”

  But of course. It had been.

  It was a different style from the gown she’d worn last evening, with a tight bodice formfitting to the waist where the gathered skirt then flowed freely. The sleeves were large and puffy and an abundance of lace set off the blue. Abigail hugged her cousin carefully and promised she’d be down shortly. Penelope was to travel to the church with her parents, in their own carriage. Margaret was sending a special landau over to transport Abigail and her own parents.

  Penelope’s abrupt departure provided only a moment of quiet before her mother stepped inside the room. She fussed and plucked at Abigail’s gown, but in the end merely stepped back and blinked several times. “You look quite pretty, Abigail. I am so proud of you today.” She then kissed Abigail softly on the cheek and left the room.

  And then her father entered. “I’m afraid to hug you. I’ll ruin your gown.” He smiled jovially. Abigail suspected he’d already raided the liquor cabinet but refused to chastise him for it. She wasn’t going to allow anything to ruin her surprisingly optimistic mood.

  Instead she simply allowed herself to take comfort in her father’s rare embrace. “I’ll be fine, Papa. Nothing could possibly ruin this day!”

  Her father hugged her tightly for several moments before turning away and wiping at his cheeks, more than a little embarrassed. “Now, I don’t want you to be a stranger to Raebourne and Biddeford Corners simply because you are a duchess, Abigail. I want you to bring all the grandchildren around as often as possible.”

  Abigail laughed, daring to imagine herself and the duke visiting her parents’ home, with a handful of children. “I promise, Papa.” Tears threatened once again. Blasted tears. She was not going to cry anymore today. Her eyes were finally looking normal again. “Off with you, now. You’ll make me cry. I’ll be down in but a moment.”

  But her father hugged her one more time. “You’ve been quite a bit of trouble for us, Abigail, for your mother and me. But I want you to know that we—both of us—love you dearly.” He kissed her on the cheek softly and then gave her a watery smile. “Best finish readying yourself. We’ll see you at the church.”

  With those parting words, he kissed her again and then left, closing the door behind him.

  Abigail waved her hands in front of her eyes for several moments to keep any new tears from falling. Who would have thought she would ever have been able to make her parents so very happy? After all she’d put them through, years ago and again this summer, she was pleased to make such fabulous amends with them.

  All thanks to her duke.

  And then her father’s parting words echoed in her brain. We’ll see you at the church.

  We’ll see you at the church?

  Gathering up her pelisse, Abigail rushed toward the door and ran down the stairs, the ancient townhouse sounding surprisingly quiet. In a blaze of incomprehensible panic, she rushed past the butler and threw open the door.

  No carriages awaited her.

  Turning back to the stodgy man in the foyer, she shook her head, not quite believing this was happening. “Where are all of the carriages? Where has everybody gone?”

  The man did not blink or make even the slightest expression as he answered. “Why they’ve left, miss. They said you were to ride in a separate carriage.”

  Except that had not been the plan at all.

  “There isn’t another one coming. Have one of the baron’s carriages brought around immediately!” She never shouted at servants, but her voice rose nonetheless. “Anything at all. I’m going to be late for my own wedding.”

  A dawn of understanding and sympathy appeared on the butler’s face. “There aren’t any left, miss. Even all of the horses are out already. I suppose I could send a footman in search of a hackney, but there’s no promising he’ll be able to hail one.”

  At this, Abigail rushed through to the back of the house to the mews to verify that not even an old nag had been left in the stable. He was right. There were no conveyances left that she could take to the church.

  And then, a gleaming piece of metal caught her attention.

  But no.

  She could not.

  Except…it was her only hope.

  ****

  “I cannot eat a bite, Margaret,” Alex told his sister, who’d managed to become the bossiest woman alive this morning. “You’re lucky I’m upright.”

  After vomiting earlier for what seemed like an eternity, Alex managed to steal not much more than a wink of sleep before Villiars insisted he arise to bathe. The hot water had felt heavenly, but drinking coffee proved to be the opposite. His stomach protested on and off in varying waves of intensity while his valet shaved and dressed him.

  When the time arrived to depart for St. George’s, all he wanted was to throw himself back into bed. Damn his eyes, and on his blasted wedding day! A fine bridegroom, for certain!

  As much as he wished to blame Danbury for encouraging him, it had been his own decision. The last of an unfortunate string of bad decisions made the previous night.

  He should not have attacked Farley publicly. Not that he regretted pummeling the man, but he’d promised Abigail he’d not do anything that might draw public criticism.

  He also ought to have gone to Abigail afterward. He ought to have reassured her that he’d not been fighting over his former mistress. Not that he needed to answer to anyone regarding his sexual exploits, but it would have been kind of him to reassure her, nonetheless.

  She’d told him once that she believed he was a kind man. It was the least he could have done for her.

  The remaining poor decisions he’d made had come every time he’d raised a glass or flask to his lips over the course of the night.

  And now he was to pay for them all.

  “Are we sending a carriage for Abigail and her parents?” he inquired of his sister absentmindedly. She would alrea
dy have taken control of all these details.

  “Already done, Monfort. I’ve appointed them use of the ivory landau. The weather is simply gorgeous, and so we’ve left the top down,” she answered over her shoulder as she straightened her husband’s cravat. Clive was watching Alex with laughter in his eyes.

  “You look like death warmed over, Monfort.” He sounded droll and insolent. “I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed a bridegroom as battered and green.” And then laughing at his own joke, he winged an arm to his wife. “Shall we lead the way, my lady?”

  Alex’s brother-in-law was not a bad fellow, but at that precise moment, Alex considered landing him a facer. Clive at least ought to have had the decency to get foxed along with him last night. Not right for the fellow to look so well rested and cheerful.

  Danbury appeared at the top of the stairs. Oh, hell, if Alex looked anything like the viscount, then Clive’s insults were thoroughly justified. Danbury’s appearance only lacked the blackened eye and swollen lip.

  “You are all speaking far too loudly,” Danbury stated, descending carefully. “There won’t be loud music at this affair?” Hugh would be standing up with Alex. Just last night Alex had assigned him the duty.

  “It’s a wedding, Danbury.” Clive’s grin persisted. “Magnificent pipe organ, playing a march.”

  Danbury groaned.

  “You have the rings, don’t you?” Alex would confirm such an important detail. Especially in light of Danbury’s current state.

  “Right here, old fellow.” Danbury pulled them from a pocket inside his jacket. “Both shackles, safe and sound.”

  Good to know his friend still possessed a sense of humor. Perhaps Alex himself might feel human again soon as well. “What are we waiting for?” he groused.

  Margaret and the earl climbed into a lightweight horse chariot while Alex and Danbury climbed on to their mounts. Alex needed all his concentration to do something he normally wouldn’t even have thought about. Stay atop his horse.

  The church wasn’t far, and a large crowd gathered below the steps. Alex refused to acknowledge any of them. He’d already given in to an exorbitant amount of undukelike behavior over the past twenty-four hours. He dismounted and handed his horse to one of the liveried servants who’d jumped down from Margaret’s coach.

  Where was his bride? Had Abigail arrived with her parents yet?

  He did not see the ivory landau parked anywhere nearby. Of course, the bride would be last to arrive. The twinge of nervousness he experienced at that thought surprised him. Of course, she would arrive. What woman would fail to show up to marry a duke?

  A woman who feared the ton. A woman who would perhaps believe her bridegroom had fought over his mistress the night before.

  Ignoring these unproductive thoughts, Alex strode confidently up the church steps and into the vestibule. A sacred song reverberated throughout the sanctuary, but he was not so obtuse as to be ignorant of the judgmental whispers rolling through the pews. He gestured Danbury to follow him as he strode down the aisle toward the altar. His fob watch revealed the time to be five minutes before nine. Abigail and her parents would be arriving shortly. Rather than take his official place at the front while awaiting Abigail, he dropped onto the bench in front of Margaret and the earl. Numerous familiar faces of distant relatives and acquaintances who had traveled far and wide for such a momentous occasion as his wedding went completely unnoticed.

  “You have the rings?” he whispered to Danbury, again, thinking something surely would go wrong at this point and time. Apparently, the world worked in concerted effort to make his wedding day into a mockery.

  “Right here.” Danbury chuckled. “Ah, I believe your bride has arrived.”

  Alex glanced over his shoulder and sure enough, Mr. and Mrs. Wright were settling themselves into the front row on the opposite side of the aisle. Abigail would be waiting in the back.

  Alex stood, and Danbury followed him as he took his place beside the bishop. The music ceased and then, in a great crescendo, began again.

  Except Abigail was nowhere in sight.

  Chapter 15

  Abigail wrestled with Penelope’s Lady Accelerator, all the while steering it from the stable out into the small road behind the house. If she were to have any chance at all of arriving to her wedding before everybody gave up on her, she must travel at much greater speeds than she could walk, or even run. She suppressed the anxiety rising inside and forced herself to remember that she had managed to remain upright for short distances without falling the other day.

  Very short distances.

  She leaned the two-wheeled vehicle against the side of the carriage house and rushed back into her aunt and uncle’s townhouse. Upon locating the butler precisely where she’d left him, she caught at his sleeve breathlessly. What if Margaret or Penelope or anybody realized the mix-up and sent a carriage back for her? What if she were to attempt to ride the Accelerator and they missed her completely? Surely they would realize her parents’ thoughtless, incomprehensible, stupid mistake? Surely the duke would not think that she was jilting him? Nobody jilted a duke!

  Except Lady Natalie had.

  But that was different. She was not Lady Natalie. Under no circumstances whatsoever would she ever jilt Monfort!

  “Has a carriage returned for me yet?” she gushed breathlessly, her chest tight.

  Perhaps she ought to wait.

  The butler shook his head apologetically. “What would you like me to do, miss?” He was far too calm, far too contained. She was missing her own wedding, for heaven’s sake!

  She had to do something!

  “If a carriage comes for me,” she gasped, “tell them I am coming! Tell them I have not cried off! Do you understand?”

  The butler nodded somberly. “You are going…on foot?” he asked, his brows furrowing slightly.

  “I am going to ride to the church on Penelo—on Miss Crone’s Lady Accelerator. I shall be there as quickly as possible. But it is important, do you understand, that you tell them I am not crying off!”

  “Very well, miss.” He nodded somberly again. “If a carriage comes for you, I am to tell them you are riding a contraption to the church and that you are most definitely not crying off.”

  “Yes.” Abigail nodded. And then before she could change her mind, she dashed back out to the mews again and pulled out the Accelerator. Grasping the handles, she pulled up her skirts and lifted one leg over the middle bar. Not giving herself time to think, she began shuffling her feet along the ground to propel herself forward. Raising her bum to the seat, she daringly increased her pace.

  She was moving!

  The Accelerator wobbled slightly, and she put even more effort into propelling herself forward. Rrrip!

  Her beautiful dress! A large piece of the lace had caught on the wheel and now trailed along in the dirt behind her.

  But she could not worry about it right now. Monfort must think she’s crying off!

  She forced herself to look up, just in time to avoid running into the side of a neighboring stable. She was on the road, however, and she was moving.

  Not as fast as she’d like, but faster than she could walk.

  As she emerged onto a cross street, it took her a moment to contemplate which way she needed to drive. To the right.

  She moved the handle just a fraction to the right and nearly lost her balance when the contraption began to tilt. She caught herself with her foot and pushed off again.

  And it worked! As she stepped, kicking her feet along furiously onward, she ignored the gaping pedestrians who stopped to stare. She needed to focus all of her energy on steering and balancing.

  The road to the church was not without obstacles.

  Oh, she hoped this wasn’t all a colossal mistake. Likely a carriage awaited her at her uncle’s house by now! She ought to have waited. When she rode through a puddle of water, she wondered if she ought to turn around and return to the house.

  But no, she was almost there.<
br />
  Her legs burned, and perspiration dripped down her face.

  This was considerably more exercise than she’d experienced since she’d been a child. But she rode determinedly onward. She was not going to jilt her duke!

  ****

  She was going to jilt him.

  Alex was stunned. The music played on for a full minute before the organist, realizing something was amiss, fell silent. And then in a valiant attempt to bring forth the nonexistent bride, the organist pounded out the bridal anthem one more hopeful time.

  Still, no Abigail.

  Alex looked down into the row where Margaret sat and raised his eyebrows at her questioningly, as if she might have an answer for him. But Margaret only frowned and then turned to stare curiously across the aisle at Abigail’s parents. Abigail’s father shrugged and mouthed something in Alex’s direction. Alex jumped down from the altar, ran over, and grasped the man who was to become his father-in-law, by the arm. “Where is she?” he asked through gritted teeth, his pounding head and rolling stomach all but forgotten. Was she truly jilting him?

  The breath that rolled off Mr. Wright brought forth the nausea Alex had temporarily forgotten. But the words he spoke caused Alex to stand up straight. “What do you mean she was coming right behind you? She was to come with you, you blathering idiot!” He did not stop to think that he was publicly insulting his bride’s father. The organ had gone silent, and Alex’s voice echoed throughout the large cathedral.

  They’d left her behind. They’d forgotten to bring the bride!

  Disgusted, Alex rejoined the bishop and then addressed the congregation in a surprisingly ducal tone. “Please, ladies and gentlemen, wait but a moment. There is to be a wedding here today but after a slight delay. If you will all be patient, I shall return momentarily.” And then, catching himself, he added, “With my bride.”

  He strode swiftly down the center aisle and stepped out the heavy doors he’d entered just moments before. He could not dwell upon the spectacle this wedding was fast becoming. He would locate his mount and fetch Abigail on horseback. Quite romantic and heroic, really, he thought ironically. He’d never viewed himself as being a romantic and most certainly hadn’t planned on being heroic today. Perhaps Abigail would appreciate the gesture.