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THE CARRIAGE WINDOW reflected Colin’s frown back at him, rain running rivulets down the glass. The nice welcoming weather had not lasted. Of course not. This was more in line with what he had expected of his return to England. Now his arrival would be delayed as they slowed their pace.
He sank back onto the carriage cushions with a weary sigh. The confinement within this slow-moving carriage smothered him. If only the rain had stopped long enough for him to ride.
Wang was in another carriage, following at a slower pace as it led several carts conveying all his paraphernalia. The book he had tried to read to distract himself was not holding his attention. It now laid face down on the opposite seat. At least they were close to arriving. He never thought he would look at that with anticipation.
The carriage slowed to a stop, and he straightened in surprise. Surely they were not there yet? The reason for the pause became immediately apparent. Through the rain streaked glass, he saw a woman ineffectively trying to pull a pony cart out of a rut created by the muddy roads.
His lips pulled into a smile. At last, some excitement to break the monotony of this trip. Retrieving the carriage umbrella, he jumped out and walked towards her.
“Hey!” he called over the noise of the rain. “Do you need a ride?”
She turned her head towards him and ran the sleeve of her gown over her eyes. He approached her and covered her with the umbrella.
“I would really appreciate it, sir. But I can’t leave Teddy here by himself.” She replied, motioning to the pony.
“Of course not. The coachman will see to it.” The man was already jumping from his perch on the coach, going to unstrap the pony. “We can send for the cart once the weather improves. Let’s get in the coach and out of the rain, for goodness’ sake!”
She still did not move. Staring at him with wariness. The foolish woman. The rain coming down at an angle pelted them, despite the meager protection of the umbrella. Why was she hesitating when offered a ride in this weather? She finally approached the carriage slowly, but instead of getting in, she asked suspiciously.
“Who might you be, sir?”
Ah! She was leery of strangers. As she should be. But he was no threat to her. He inclined his head mildly. “The Earl of Hartfield at your service, madam.”
He thought he heard a gasp from her, but he couldn’t be sure over the roar of the rain. At least she finally took the first step to get into the carriage.
He extended his hand, and after a brief hesitation, she placed her small hand in his. It was cold and wet. The delicate fingers fluttered nervously inside his giant paw. And the contact shot a frisson of awareness up his arm. Had she felt it too? He helped her into the carriage, climbed back in after her, and shut the door.
Now that they were out of the rain, he took the opportunity to study her, and his breath caught at the beauty of her face. Even soaked and bedraggled, with her dark hair plastered to her head, she was a sight to behold. Dark arching eyebrows, small and slightly upturned nose. Bow shaped upper lip that begged to be kissed. The wet dress clung to her chest, revealing a wonderful, womanly figure. He swallowed against a wave of improper desire.
She was dripping wet and shivering by now, huddling in the farthest corner of this carriage, trying to snuggle into her drenched cloak.
He silently retrieved his overcoat from where it laid on the seat, and draped it over her. She was staring at him rather fixedly, and he couldn’t help staring back. Their eyes connected and in that brief moment, before she looked away, he had the strangest sense that he knew her. She looked familiar.
“Where are you going, madam? We can drop you off at your destination.”
“If you are the Earl of Hartfield, I daresay your destination and mine are the same, my lord. I’m going to Hartfield Park.”
He raised his brows. Was the countess having visitors?
“Indeed? That is convenient. May I have the honor of an introduction then, since you are going to my home?”
“I am Abigail. The dowager countess’s companion. W-welcome home, my lord,” she said, shivering.
A memory clicked into place. “Lady Abigail Wilson?”
She smiled tremulously, not quite meeting his eyes. “You remember me, then?”
How could he not? As a boy, he had been infatuated with her. She was the most beautiful girl he had ever met. Kind, too. She never taunted or mocked him. He used to talk to her whenever her family visited. He looked forward to those visits, or to catch glimpses of her at picnics and other gatherings where children could attend. If memory served, she was two years younger than him, which would make her 32.
The first genuine smile since he arrived in England stretched his lips. “Of course I remember you. It’s an unexpected pleasure to find you here.”
Her gaze slid away, and she huddled even deeper into the cushions. Was her obvious discomfort caused by the cold, or by him?
“Lady Harfield is expecting you. Of course, we were not sure of exactly when you would arrive, but we tried to prepare. I hope you find everything to your satisfaction, my lord.”
Maybe the pleasure was all his in this case. She was talking again. Filling the silence. As if trying to dispel the intimacy of the moment. And intimate it was, both of them alone in a carriage, while the rain thundered around them. It felt as if they were secluded in their own little bubble. Warmth spread from his chest as the boring carriage ride became something precious.
“I’m sure everything will be fine. I don’t expect a grand welcome. Tell me, Lady Abigail, how long have you lived here?” He asked as the coach started moving again.
“Just Abigail, if you please, my lord. I don’t use my courtesy title anymore. It would be more than a little pretentious for a companion.”
“I see. Well, I will call you Abigail if you will call me Colin. The way you used to when we were children.”
“I couldn’t possibly, my lord. It wouldn’t be proper.”
He sighed. He was so tired of everyone “my-lording” him.
“As you wish. But you haven’t answered my question. How long have you been living here?”
“A little over four years. Ever since her ladyship became unwell and I...” she broke off, her lips compressing and her eyes skittering away.
But he would have none of it. That was the part he wanted to know the most. How had the daughter of a Marquess, one who had been the most beautiful girl in the whole county, probably the whole of England, who had matured into a dazzlingly beautiful woman, had ended up as his stepmother's companion?
“You what, Abigail?”
“I... became a widow. And I needed a position. Her ladyship was very kind to take me in.”
Ah! So maybe she had been left penniless by her husband. Still, she was young and beautiful. And the daughter of a marquess. Why choose a life of servitude when she could remarry? But her presence was an unexpected bright spot in this otherwise dreadful burden that was his inheritance. He would accept it as the gift it was. “I’m sure she has benefited from your company, too. Tell me, are you happy here?”
Her gaze shot to his, surprised and... fearful? Surely not. Did she think he was threatening her position here?
“Very much so, my lord.”
“And the countess?” He persisted in a mild tone, trying to put her at ease. “What is she like? Could you tell me about my father’s family? I’m afraid I don’t know them at all.”
She hesitated for a moment, as if wondering what to say.
“Her ladyship is... unwell. She uses a wheelchair to move and rarely leaves the house these days. She is a kind woman. Quiet. Likes to embroider and read. Your sister, Lady Elizabeth, is a high-spirited young lady. Beautiful, sunny and vivacious. With a heart of gold. She is currently away at finishing school, but will be returning soon.”
The carriage swayed and creaked as it hit a bump on the road. She fell half over him, her torso pressing against his for a heart stopping moment. His hands came up of their own volition to clutch her arms. To prevent her from falling or to hold her closer to him? He didn’t know, but she immediately scrambled to get away and he deposited back into her side of the coach, forcing his hands to release her.
He cleared his throat. “It sounds as if you are very fond of them.”
“I am my lord. They are like my family.” She said almost defiantly.
“And how is your actual family doing?” She stiffened imperceptibly. It was subtle, but he noticed it.
“My mother passed away ten years ago. My father, I suppose, is the same as always. I don’t keep in touch with him. And my brother is... I would like to believe he is well. I haven’t received a letter from him in quite a while.”
“I see.” It made sense. She must be estranged from her family if she was keeping a position as a lady’s companion. He remembered the marquess as being an ill-tempered and strict parent. Colin’s opinion of him did not improve upon hearing her account.
The carriage was coming to a stop in front of the house and she sat up, attempting to emerge from the folds of his coat.
“Thank you for the ride, my lord.” She said, thrusting his coat back at him. “If you would just give me a few minutes to change into dry clothing, I’ll ring for tea and advise the countess that you have arrived–”
“Abigail.” he interrupted her, intercepting her hand. “Keep the coat. And take all the time you need. You should take a hot bath to take the chill off. I’m sure the servants can see to my needs for the time being. We can meet for dinner later. Is that agreeable?”
“Of course, my lord. Thank you.”
With that, she jumped out of the carriage and hurried into the house. He descended more slowly and looked up at the house.
Memories flooded his mind, intertwining nostalgia and anticipation. The imposing doors of Hartfield Park swung open, welcoming him back to the sanctuary of his childhood. The grandeur of the Georgian manor house stood tall, proudly displaying its elegant architecture amidst the sprawling estate.
Over two decades had passed since he had last set foot here, and yet, it was as if time had not passed at all. The gentle whispers of the ancient oak trees embraced him like long-lost friends. As he stepped out of the carriage, a profound sense of belonging surged through him, reconnecting him to the essence of his roots.
This was where he had ridden through wildflower meadows, swam in the stream, and forged lasting bonds with loved ones. He had been happy here. He had blocked the happier memories together with the sad. With a deep breath, Colin walked towards the door, girding himself to step into this new chapter of his life.
The butler was there at the open door. His face was a solemn mask of impassivity, but he thought he saw a sparkle in his eyes.
“My lord. Welcome home.”
“Thank you.” He looked at the butler as he handed over his hat and umbrella. His face was familiar. “Elberton, you look the same as twenty years ago.”
The butler bowed deferentially. “I’m afraid I can not say the same of you, my lord. You have grown quite a bit in the last two decades.”
Colin’s lips twitched at what he knew was a brave attempt at wit by the dignified butler. “Yes, I suppose I have.”
“We have been expecting you. The master suite is ready for your arrival. If I may be so bold as to say, on behalf of the staff, it is a pleasure to have you home.”
He couldn’t say pleasure is what he felt at being back home. Ambivalence was more like it. Many of these people had seen him grow. He was uncomfortable around them because they had been witness to his weakness. But they were also good, hardworking, loyal employees. So he just smiled noncommittally and advanced into the foyer, taking in his surroundings.
Nothing appeared to have changed in the last twenty-plus years. Everything was eerily as he remembered it. Even the smell of the house. A blend of wood polish, leather, and lemons. For a moment, he had the disorienting notion that no time had passed at all and he was still the boy he had been all those years ago.
The sound of the door closing behind him was a fitting omen. The last twenty years, the life he had built for himself, was shut off and over. This new chapter of his life was about to start. Whether he was ready for it or not.