Axel, page 25
part #3 of Jaded Gentlemen Series
“Abby will accept the temporary loan of two, if I’m lucky.” Lately, Axel had not felt lucky, though he’d felt well blessed—also worried as hell.
“You, Matthew, will call upon your capacity for charm,” Axel went on. “You will visit the Weasel and chat up the yeomanry with your signature approachable style. You will talk hounds and horses with the local huntsmen, with intent to learn anything we can regarding the loyal, faithful Mr. Ambers.”
Axel rose and gestured for the other two to precede him to the dining parlor, though a random thought popped into his mind: Sir Dewey had said that riding to hounds no longer appealed, and yet, Sir Dewey also accompanied Gregory to Melton for weeks at a time, ostensibly to enjoy the foxhunting.
He’d ask Ambers about those outings, and ask Sir Dewey as well—again.
Matthew slung an arm around Axel’s shoulders and promenaded him toward to the door.
“Being a devoted older brother, I’ll swill bitter winter ale by the hour, my favorite pastime in the world, while you do what?”
Axel shrugged free of Matthew’s hold. “Further neglect my correspondence.”
And somehow, acquire the ability to let the lady he loved go free.
* * *
“You could marry me,” Nicholas said, giving his horse’s girth a tug. He rode an enormous mare named Buttercup, and if any horse could make the journey to London despite threatening winter weather, she looked up for the task.
“Nicholas, you needn’t flirt with me. I’ll miss you,” Abby replied. Had he been flirting, or had Nick for once been in earnest? “Must you go now? Hennessey’s great-aunt’s knees predict a snowstorm.”
“Did your cousin invite you to visit her in London?” Nick asked, retying bulging saddlebags to the cantle. “You could not have more prestigious connections than the Duke of Moreland’s family, Abby.”
Abby’s cousin—second or third cousin, with maybe a remove or two thrown in—had indeed invited her for a visit.
“I’m in first mourning. By rights, I shouldn’t be visiting anybody.”
A fraught silence fell while Nick moved to the mare’s other side and retied the saddlebag there as well.
“You’re visiting somebody now, dearest darling Abby mine. Somebody whom half the shire thinks you should marry. I could escort you to London. I can wait a day while you pack up your weeds, and send word ahead. I’m a fine escort—my sisters have trained me well.”
Abby was not half tempted, not one-quarter tempted, which had probably been Nick’s point. What rural widow with no family in the area would turn down a visit to a cousin well situated in London?
Family could visit family during mourning, particularly under Abby’s circumstances.
Axel and Matthew came striding into the stable, bickering as they had through breakfast.
“Nicholas, you are daft,” Matthew said. “If the clouds were any lower, you’d be riding to London through fog.”
“It’s too cold to snow, I tell you,” Axel retorted. “Tomorrow perhaps, more likely the day following. This is Oxford, not the balmy fields of Sussex, and Nicholas has procrastinated long enough.”
Abby did not want to see Nick leave. Did not want anything to change, in fact.
“I’ve offered to wait a day,” Nick said, idly scratching his mare just above her tail. “Abby has been invited to visit her cousin in London—her titled cousin. This would allow the professor’s investigation to continue, re-acquaint Abby with family, remove her from any possibility of danger, and provide me more time to woo her.”
The mare’s great head drooped with apparent horsey bliss, while Abby wanted to thrash Nicholas for making so much sense—except the wooing part, of course.
“Oh, that’s a fine idea,” Matthew snapped. “Give a grieving woman lung fever on the king’s highway, then thrust her into the arms of near strangers, at a time when mourning prevents her from enjoying any of the blandishments of the capital. Subject her to your tedious company for the duration, and hope nobody comes to grief in an icy ditch along the way.”
Lecturing was apparently a family trait.
“Would you like to visit this cousin, Abigail?” Axel asked, tucking Abby’s scarf over her shoulder. “Nicholas’s suggestion makes sense and would keep you safe. Your safety concerns me greatly.”
Her safety, but not her future, not her heart.
“Buttercup, come,” Nick said, walking the horse up the barn aisle. She was obviously a mare who held her breath as the girth was tightened. A prudent rider gave her a moment to adjust to the saddle, then fastened the girth more snugly.
“Abigail?” Axel pressed. “I’m off to speak to Ambers today, assuming the heavens don’t open up. Unless that interview yields a confession, my investigation has yet to reach its conclusion. Nick will get you safely to London, and my traveling coach is at your disposal.”
Now, Abby wanted to thrash Axel, though she’d hug Matthew at the first opportunity.
“Matthew has the right of it,” she said. “I met this cousin once in childhood. I don’t know the family she’s married into at all. London coal smoke is notoriously unhealthy, and as a new widow, but for Sunday services, I could hardly set foot outside my cousin’s home.”
The clip-clop of hooves and the soughing of a bitter wind were the only sounds. Abby could not read Axel’s expression.
“You should have buttoned your greatcoat, Professor,” she went on. “Should have worn gloves, a scarf, a hat. This cold grows dangerous.”
“I didn’t want Nicholas to depart without a farewell. He hates good-byes.”
Matthew had wandered down to the foaling stall, and Nick was fiddling with Buttercup’s bridle at the other end of the barn.
“I hate good-byes too,” Abby said. “I took a casual leave of my parents one fine spring evening, resentful that my mother made me wear my good bonnet instead of my straw hat—I was only humoring Grandpapa’s former business associate after all—and by the time the colonel and I had strolled for an hour, my life had gone up in smoke.”
Axel didn’t even glance about, he simply took Abby in his arms. “I’m sorry, my dear. Memories ambush us, and it’s a sign we’re getting stronger, not weaker. Lately, my regard for my late wife has become more fond, less fraught. The anniversary of her death is in March, but I’m not dreading it as much this year.”
As much. Abby knew exactly what he meant. “I’ll return to Stoneleigh at week’s end, weather permitting.” This was the good-bye she truly dreaded, the one for which Nick’s departure was merely a rehearsal.
“Please take six of my most able footmen and several of my maids. They grow bored looking after me without my sons underfoot, and you can use the help putting Stoneleigh Manor to rights.”
Damn and blast, did he have to be so thoughtful? “I don’t need six, Axel.”
“I need to lend them to you. I will evaluate their progress regularly, Abigail, and I will not close the investigation until I have answers. I will also arm you with a gun if you like, and you cannot stop me from changing every lock on every door on the premises.”
Warmth trickled through Abby, and relief. Why hadn’t she ordered all the locks changed?
“You’ve already arranged for a locksmith?”
“Three locksmiths are at work as we speak. Once Ambers departs, I’ll have him followed to ensure he’s left the shire, and I’ll confiscate every old key from every tweenie, boot boy, and goose girl on the property. The locksmiths might have some notion where a second safe could be secreted as well.”
“At week’s end, then. I’ll thank my cousin for her kind wishes, and suggest a visit when my first mourning is complete.”
Was Axel relieved at that pronouncement? How could he stand about in this cold, wearing only an open greatcoat for protection?
“A fine plan, madam. Let’s see Nicholas on his way, and then I can repair to Stoneleigh Manor for an interview with Ambers.”
“I’d like to go with you.”
“Abigail, you’ve said it yourself. The weather grows dangerously cold. Send me with lists, instructions, and lectures, but do not needlessly inconvenience yourself for the sake of showing the flag.”
The mare clip-clopped back up the aisle. Matthew left off pretending to be fascinated with the new foal.
“Kiss me good-bye, Abby dearest,” Nick said. “I’ll need the warmth of that memory to see me through the coming storms.”
“Safe journey,” Abby said, going to the very tips of her toes to kiss Nick’s cheek. His arms swooped around her, a snug embrace that tucked her against a broad, warm chest. She was saying good-bye to the first new friend she’d made in years, and that… hurt.
And comforted too. If she ever did travel to London, she’d have a countess for a cousin and an earl’s heir for a friend.
“You will write to me, Nicholas,” Abby said, burrowing closer. “You will report all your exploits in naughty detail. You will relay gossip about people I don’t even know, and leave a trail of scandal across the pages of your correspondence.”
Axel gently extricated her from Nick’s arms. “Failing that, Nicholas,” he said, “find yourself a good woman, settle down to make fat, healthy babies with her, and get your younger siblings married off.”
The men embraced as men did—quick, back-slapping hugs that nonetheless conveyed much affection.
Never once had Abby seen anybody hug her late husband. The realization was odd, and… gratifying. Gregory had been wealthy, snide, mean, dangerous, vile… and in some regard she didn’t yet understand, also pathetic.
Then Nick was on his way, down the lane at a relaxed trot that took him from view all too quickly.
“Shall I accompany you to Stoneleigh?” Matthew asked as all three left the stable yard for the warmth of the manor house. “Two can look for a safe more effectively than one, and Abby can return home that much more quickly.”
The squire, whom Abby would have pronounced quite steady on his feet, stumbled.
Axel righted his brother solicitously. “Watch the footing, old man. I’d rather you bided here, in case Sir Dewey calls again, or Abigail has need of good company. You might consider working on those duets, for I say with all kindness, you are far from being able to impress your lady wife with them, much less your children.”
“We can’t all be experts, baby brother. I beat you regularly at cribbage, and my skills over fences eclipse your own handily.”
“I mix a better holiday punch, and always have.”
They nattered back and forth, while Abby swallowed around the lump in her throat. She’d miss Nick, and having somebody to miss was… better than having nobody to miss.
“Madam, this will not serve,” Axel said, linking his arm through Abby’s. “Nicholas has upset you with his leave taking. Matthew, please have the kitchen send a tray with hot chocolate and scones to the glass house and find Mr. Pennington’s journal to send along with it. Have a footman bring out a hassock and blankets, as well. Abigail will be enjoying some solitude among the roses, where all is peaceful, fragrant, and warm.”
Matthew bowed and marched off toward the house.
While Axel produced a key from his watch pocket and curled Abby’s cold fingers around metal that bore the warmth of his body heat.
* * *
All the way to Stoneleigh Manor, and all the way back to Candlewick, Axel contemplated the image Abigail had made in his glass house that morning. He’d left her swaddled in a soft wool blanket, her grandfather’s journal open before her, a pot of chocolate at her elbow. Every lady deserved hours spent thus, and every gentleman deserved a lady upon whom to shower such devotion.
As a new husband, Axel had invited Caroline to his glass house, but he hadn’t known how to lure her, hadn’t known luring came into it—and neither had Caroline.
Ah, well. Oxford was now luring him, his last treatise having caught the notice of both the Regent and the Regent’s personal physician. His correspondence with the late empress had somehow become known in academic circles, and his nephews had distinguished themselves for their diligent scholarship, or perhaps…
He turned Ivan onto the Candlewick lane, the manor house at the end cheerily abloom with lamplight. For a moment, he halted his horse, trying to name the emotion that suffused him.
Welcome was part of it, sanctuary another. This was his home, where he’d raised his children; said his earthly farewells to Caroline; written his scholarly works; and developed roses renowned for their beauty, hardiness, and fragrance.
That all mattered, but lately, what mattered more was that here, Abigail Stoneleigh had given him her trust. Surely a piece of her heart had come along as well?
Ivan stomped a hoof in the snow.
“You want your oats.” Axel gave the horse permission to walk on. “I want… I wanted a position at the university. I wanted a thornless rose.” Those were fine ambitions, ways to make meaningful contributions to posterity and even to present society. A thornless rose might lead to thornless raspberries, for example.
But those ambitions no longer had the feel of wishes, of cherished dreams.
The cold had acquired the profound stillness of deep winter, a good time for contemplation before a roaring fire. Axel turned his horse to the stable yard some moments later as a black-clad figure emerged.
“I lied to your brother,” Abby said, marching up to Ivan’s side. “I told him I’d left Grandpapa’s journal in the glass house. I simply wanted to be out in the fresh air, and I wanted to wait for you here.”
Which explained Wheeler’s absence once more, also the warmth blooming in Axel’s heart, where before all of him had been chilled.
He swung down and flipped the reins over Ivan’s head. “Come into the barn, Abigail. You’ll develop an ague in this cold. I suppose you’re curious about my interview with Ambers.”
She pitched into him so hard Axel nearly stumbled. He got an arm around her and tucked his chin over her crown.
“Madam, is something amiss?”
Now would be a fine time for her to confess she wasn’t ready to return to Stoneleigh Manor, and she wasn’t up to the task of dwelling there through the months of refurbishing the house.
“Mr. Weekes paid a call this afternoon.”
Mrs. Weekes must have taken a day off from her baking. “I trust he did not give offense?”
“Matthew charmed him, of course. Strutted his magistrate’s credentials, gossiped about mutual acquaintances from the university, but Mr. Weekes remarked pointedly about how much better I appeared to be doing—several times. He hopes to see me at services this Sunday.”
Well, damn.
“I will be happy to escort you.” Though if Axel escorted her to services, this quiet little repairing lease at the neighbor’s became common knowledge, as did Abigail’s greatly improved health. Courting couples went to services together.
Axel guided Abigail into the barn, but such was the weather that even the stable wasn’t warm. He whistled for Wheeler, who came bustling in from the direction of the carriage house.
“A hot mash for my intrepid steed, Wheeler,” Axel said, giving the horse’s neck a pat, “and I’d bring over extra hay from the home farm, were I you. The cold will keep the horses hungry, and if the temperature warms up, snow is likely.”
Wheeler touched his cap to the lady and led Ivan the Intrepid off to the cross-ties. Ice balls clung to the horse’s fetlocks, and his hoofs left a wet trail in the dirt of the aisle.
“Why did Weekes come calling?” Abby asked, pacing away from Axel. “For years, he could not bestir himself to visit me at Stoneleigh Manor unless Gregory was in residence, and then no more than every few months. That presuming old man patted my knee.”
The pastor had a latent wish to make the immediate acquaintance of his Maker.“Abigail, you are welcome here as long as you like, and my own peace of mind would be best served if you did not return to Stoneleigh Manor unless and until we know who killed Gregory.”
Her shoulders sagged. “Then Ambers did not kill Gregory over a collection of smelly old pipes?”
“Likely not. The maid confirmed that Ambers had merely stepped out for a moment to smoke, as he often did at the end of the evening.” Axel turned Abby toward the manor, when what he wanted was to take her to the glass house and make passionate love to her—which would, of course, solve nothing. “If we’re fortunate, the weather will obviate the need for anybody to attend services this Sunday.”
Though no wonder Weekes had remarked Abigail’s improved health. Between rest, good nutrition, and her present blazing temper, she was positively thriving.
“I can’t pray for a great storm,” she said, stomping across the garden toward the back terrace, “because Nicholas is traveling. Matthew might soon be traveling too, and you had wanted to pay another call on the lawyers, if I recall.”
“Nobody wants to pay a call on lawyers, Abigail. I shall though. Ambers’s recollection matches Shreve’s. He was never asked to witness your signature on any document, and like Shreve, he completed an affidavit to that effect for me.”
Abby had mentioned once that Ambers had lovely handwriting. Having seen an example, Axel was gratified to think that its distinctiveness would go far toward making a case against Handstreet.
“So you’ll be able to compare signatures with whatever the lawyers produce.” Abby stopped at the top of the terrace steps, her breath puffing white before her. “I’d rather you tell me the rest of it now, instead of waiting until your brother is on hand to see me raging and fuming anew when you announce that Gregory was faithful to his mistress while he couldn’t be bothered with me.”
In her present mood, Axel knew not what to say, or do. He risked a kiss to her forehead.
“I am ever so glad Gregory did not bother with you in the sense you allude to. In my eyes, respecting your chastity was Stoneleigh’s sole virtue.”
Abby leaned against a lamp post, as if abruptly fatigued. “Are you angry with me because I was… without experience?”
“I am more flattered and bewildered by the gift of your virginity than I can convey, Abigail. Had I known—must we speak of this here and now?”
