Saving Lady Abigail: A Historical Regency Romance Book Page 6

  The prize for a gig race was a small purse. Lady Abigail was sure the amount was not even enough to cover the cost of a horse, let alone more losses at a gentlemen’s club.

  “Well, that is the cost of taking a gamble. You shouldn’t put down a bet unless you are willing to lose it all,” Lord Heshing said firmly.

  “What an interesting idea. I am sure most here would say the opposite. Why take a risk if you don’t think you will win more in the end?”

  “I suppose it is the heightened sense of the risk, knowing that I might lose it all, and whether I am willing to part with it, that gives me the encouragement I need to see the win in the end.”

  “I always felt like card games were more chance than anything else. Are you saying you believe your pure determination and drive is what sets you on top of others?”

  “Well, I don’t win every time, I must admit,” Lord Heshing said with a hearty laugh. “But I must also admit that I feel my drive does help me to find myself the champion at the end of the night.”

  Lady Abigail thought about Lord Heshing's words over the next few days. She had plenty of time to do so, as she was, in her mind, trapped indoors.

  She was doing her best to make a counterpane covering for one of the beds of the Foundling Hospital. Each lady had set her goal last they met and were to work through the week before collecting items to be delivered to the hospital.

  It was now the day of meeting at Lady Louisa’s house and Lady Abigail was frantic to finish the last few stitches of her quilt. It was, by far, the simplistic bed covering that could be made.

  Using a simple linen fabric for the top, wool batting for the middle, and soft wool fabric for the bottom, she had stitched all the corners together. It was a slow, painstaking task to do such simple sewing.

  Even still, she couldn’t help but notice how her thread line seemed to lean whenever she was distracted. Even worse were the stitches much larger than the others every so often as she became impatient with the task.

  Once the three pieces were sewn together, no matter how poorly, Lady Abigail then worked on creating a simple design on the top layer. She did the simplest stitching through all three layers as she created the design. She hoped it would add to the covering’s sturdiness and prevent the woolen batting from moving too much.

  Where applique or delicate embroidery were often used on the top of the covering, Lady Abigail had settled on the simple outline of a spring tree with pink blossoms and a bird nesting on a limb.

  * * *

  In the week she worked, she had just about completed the whole project. Currently, she sat in the morning room finishing the last few stitches of the bird’s nest when the duchess came to join her.

  In her hand was a large wicker basket filled with several neatly folded blankets. They were beautiful to see even in their hidden state.

  Each blanket had a different fabric applique pattern of cotton dotting the front. Isabella had even gone back over the applique adding details to the design with embroidery. Looking in the basket, Lady Abigail guessed there had to be at least six.

  She let her own work fall to her lap as she gave a sigh of defeat.

  “How is it possible that you have done all that in such a short time?” Lady Abigail asked, full of admiration.

  “Well, I have not been as busy as you. With His Grace not allowing me to do much past sitting in the drawing room day and night, it is a necessity to keep one's hands busy,” the duchess answered.

  “Yours looks very lovely. I expect you will make your brother eat a helping of humble pie if he sees it. We must leave shortly, however, for the carriage is ready.”

  “I am not done yet,” Lady Abigail said, feeling disheartened to not even have one finished.

  It was accurate that she had been out of the house for much of the past week. She had attended various dinner parties and private receptions. Even with the knowledge that she had been busy with other engagements, Lady Abigail still felt very pitiful at her small accomplishment.

  “I am sure we will have time to finish up at Lady Louisa’s. We are to have luncheon first, after all.”

  Lady Abigail was resigned to that fact and got up with her own meager wicker basket of one blanket and some notions.

  It had been decided that each week when they met, they would have a luncheon together first and then they would take a carriage over to Foundling Hospital to deliver their creations. The idea had been that they would get to experience some of the joy on the children’s faces.

  Lady Abigail was sure whichever child received her covering would more likely struggle to hide disappointment compared to the others that would be given out today.

  Chapter 8

  The luncheon at Lady Louisa’s went smoothly for Lady Abigail. Happily, she wasn't the only one to have a few stitches to finish while they talked, and no one had as much done as the duchess.

  “How is Colton doing?" Isabella asked with concern.

  “I am deeply worried about him,” Lady Louisa confessed. “He has not left the house once since the ball. He is very short-tempered and even snapped at Mother once. She has taken his changed appearance very badly. One evening at dinner, he told her that if she found him so grotesque, he would no longer join us for dinner.”

  “Since then, he has taken all his meals in Father’s office. I fear he plans to stay locked up in that office forever.”

  Isabella was visibly concerned to hear such a report on the Earl of Gilchrist. She wished there was something she could do to help him, as Lady Louisa did.

  Lady Abigail, on the other hand, sooner preferred not to think of Lord Gilchrist at all, and felt the mood was soured by talk of him.

  “Perhaps if he was given a cause to help him forget his problems,” Lady Fortuna suggested, always willing to help another in need.

  “I have thought the same thing, but I fear he will do nothing that will require him to leave the house. He refuses to be seen by society at all,” Lady Louisa replied.

  “There must be something he can do in the safety of his home. Then, once he is feeling comfortable with himself again, he might be more willing to venture outward,” Lady Fortuna said, deep in thought.

  “I know,” she finally said after a moment's contemplation. “Many of the boys at the Foundling Hospital are prepared for life as military men. Perhaps when we go today, we could ask the headmaster if there are any questions they might have for a returned war hero. Lord Gilchrist could spend the week writing his advice and answers and return them with us.”

  “It would be nice to have an escort as well,” the duchess chimed in. “I know His Grace would be much relieved to hear that we did not go alone each week.”

  It was not exactly the best part of the city that the ladies would be traveling to. Lady Abigail was aware of this fact but also didn’t like the idea of having to sit in a carriage with Lord Gilchrist each week.

  She was far more offended by his manner and speech than by his scars.

  “I am not entirely sure he would even leave the house for this,” Lady Louisa stated frankly.

  “It wouldn’t hurt to ask, though,” Lady Fortuna replied.

  It was finally settled that, for that day, the ladies would go on their own. Lady Fortuna would discuss the idea with the headmaster of the boys' portion of the school. If he found it a favorable idea, the ladies would return that night with letters to be delivered to the earl.

  All the party, except Lady Abigail, hoped that the earl would feel inspired by the task and accompany them next week. For this reason it was decided that, from that moment on, each meeting would be at Lady Louisa’s for the comfort of the earl.

  Lady Abigail was not without compassion. She fully understood that the trial Lord Gilchrist had experienced over the last year was likely more than she could imagine. The fact that he had just barely told the duke only the circumstances around his injury told Lady Abigail that it was still a very sensitive subject to him.

  Compounding that with the normal
stresses of war was much for a single man to carry. Lady Abigail knew this all with the logical side of her brain. The rest of her, however, couldn’t seem to forgive the blatant slight he had given her or his coarse behavior to even those who cared for him and tried to help, like the duke, duchess, and his family.

  Happily for Lady Abigail, the rest of luncheon and the carriage ride conversations turned away from the earl.

  Lady Abigail was happy that her cousin insisted they all go to give out their projects. In the girls' school, there were just under forty children ranging from five to thirteen. The same could be said for the other school that was designated for the boys, though they ranged up to the age of sixteen.

  Whereas most of the girls were apprenticed out to seamstresses and the like at the earliest age possible, the boys who chose the military life stayed behind until they were of age to join.

  Luckily, Lady Abigail's bed covering went to a small boy who had just joined the Foundling Hospital. Though all children there were accepted at infancy, they were sent away to be fostered until school age.

  The boy who received the linen had just recently been removed from his foster home with nothing but the clothes on his back. He was so happy to have the luxury of a soft blanket, he cared very little for the unevenness of stitching or the simple pattern on top.

  Seeing the children there, many in clothes or shoes too small or worn, gave Lady Abigail the desire to take this project more seriously. If that meant giving up some engagements and invitations, she would be willing to do so. It would be well worth it to see even more children with smiles on their faces.

  Along with their baskets of linens, the ladies had also stopped along the way at a bakery to pick up currant rolls with icing for each child.

  In that way, even if a child didn’t receive a gift of clothing or bedding, they would still have the joy of a sweet, warm roll in their stomachs.

  By the looks on their faces when the basket of bread was presented, Lady Abigail guessed that treats such as this were few and far between.

  The ride home in the carriage was a quiet one as each lady seemed to contemplate the vast blessings of their own situation. In Lady Louisa’s hand sat a stack of letters written by the boys of the school.

  The headmaster had found the idea a marvelous one. He hoped that the Earl of Gilchrist would come in person to give his own presentation, as well as some finer points needed for preparation in the military.

  Lady Louisa promised nothing more than the returned correspondence and hoped to be pleasantly surprised when the idea was placed before her bother.

  That night, as the duke and duchess sat before the drawing room fire of their London home with Lady Abigail, conversation seemed to turn again to the status of the earl.

  “I just worry for him so much,” the duchess said to her husband, after giving a detailed account of Lady Louisa’s report on the earl's health and situation.

  “Honestly, I don’t blame him. I am certain that if I were in Gilchrist's situation, I would shut myself up as well.”

  "That is not helpful, my dear,” Isabella said to the duke. “I need to find a way to help him out of this sour mood he is in.”

  “It’s quite a sour mood,” Lady Abigail said under her breath as she worked on the first of what she hoped would be many pinafores.

  Much to the duchess’s disappointment, and Lady Abigail's satisfaction, they had been instructed that all clothes should be made per uniform requirements, void of any embellishments. It was disappointing for the duchess not to give each girl a unique touch to her outfit as she had hoped.

  For Lady Abigail, it meant simpler patterns and not worrying about a disappointed little girl who got her much less ornate work compared to the abilities of the others.

  “He was not always like this,” the duchess tried to insist to Lady Abigail. “He used to be so much fun. Such a tease too.” She smiled at the memory.

  “Perhaps the injury has affected his head as much as his body, for the man you described to me seems irreconcilable with the one I met.”

  “I hope not,” the duchess said as she wondered if it could be true.

  “War can do a great many things to a man. Some of the mental strains are irreversible. I knew an admiral who refused ever to step foot on the bow of a ship. One time, in his past, he was thrown overboard in a storm and taken captive by the Spanish. He always associated his horrible ordeal with that portion of the deck and refused to ever set foot on it again, come rain or sunshine.”

  “But it didn’t make him so quick to temper,” Lady Abigail continued. “Lord Gilchrist was so rude at the ball, I could scarcely believe it. You can't possibly tell me that his disposition is due to an association of social events to battles?”

  “I was just giving one example. The results of battle are just as varied as the men who experience them. I think Gilchrist is not only wracked with the scars but also the realization that he is now seen as vastly different than who he once was.”

  Lady Abigail tried her best to feel compassion for the man. He had suffered a lot; she knew that. But, for some reason, all the logic in the world that told her to give him a chance to grow into a better man seemed to fly straight out of her head as soon as it came in.

  “I think if we invite Colton and the rest of his family over for dinner it might help him. Maybe starting with smaller crowds, with people he knows love and care about him, he will be able to begin the process of becoming whole again,” Isabella suggested.

  “I am more than happy to get behind that idea,” the duke said to his wife. “But please be aware that the Colton you know now may be the one he is to be always. Some things are too hard to ever fully recover from. No amount of feminine meddling can change that,” he added with a teasing gleam in his eyes.

  The duchess tisked at her husband for being called meddling. It was, however, precisely what she planned to do. She knew that Louisa, too, would do anything and everything in her power to help heal what had damaged Colton on the inside.

  Chapter 9

  Colton struggled with his guilt as he sat in his office, the office that should still belong to his father. After losing his temper with his mother, he hadn't found it safe for him to leave again.

  He never meant to snap at Lady Gilchrist, but he just couldn’t stand the fact that she could no longer look him in the eyes. Surely, she had to know how much he already hated himself for his father's death. To recognize that his own mother held it against him was unbearable.

  He hadn’t spoken a word to his mother since that night. Instead, he locked himself in this room, never really knowing if it was day or night.

  Even worse were the nightmarish fits that seemed to overcome him during the twilight hours. It left him not wanting to sleep at all. Over and over again, he relived the action that led to his disfigurement and his father’s ultimate death.

  Gilchrist felt he kept himself busy enough but apparently his sister didn’t agree on that fact. Instead, after an evening of listening to Louisa’s voice resound around the house mingled with the other ladies, she came to him announcing a project which she insisted he take on.

  It was an intriguing one and he couldn't help but at least read over the small stack of letters before him. Many of them were just to express their desire to join the Regulars or militia to make something of themselves.

  It sent waves of anxiety through him as he read many of the emotions he had felt before taking up his commission.

  Lord Gilchrist was also keenly aware of what awaited these boys. With nothing to their names or to support them, they would enlist in the lowest ranks of the military. He knew well what hardships and dangers lay ahead of them.

  He toiled away in his office wondering what to do with such letters. As a military man, the right thing to do would be to encourage them. Tell the boys all the best of the military and what it entailed.

  Another part of him wished to tell the boys to find a better lot in life. He knew, however, that this was not possi
ble for many of them. It was poverty or enlistment.

  He determined instead that he would tell them the whole truth. He would explain the brotherhood and camaraderie that was found in no other place. He would also suggest tools and training they could learn now to prepare for advancement and, frankly, survival.

  He sat down and began to compile a list of things the boys should train in before they became of age. Many of these things were not considered proper schooling for boys. One such business was basic sewing.

  Often men of the lower ranks couldn’t afford to have buttons or hems tended to. It was far too high a cost for their meager salaries. For this reason, many either had to risk the reprimand of not having their uniform up to snuff or learn the art of mending themselves.

  The Royal Military was not only full of rules and organized ranks, but also had a very keen eye for details. The slightest hem not suitably tended could end in severe consequences.

  A soft knock on his door interrupted the earl's work.

  “Come in,” he said, slightly more irritated than he had meant.

  He didn’t fret over this too much as it was likely just a servant with a tray of some sorts. The rumble in his stomach told him that dinner must shortly come to pass.

  Instead, he saw his sister enter the room. She was dressed in a delicate silk gown of ruby red. He did not doubt that Lousia must be going somewhere this evening from the way she looked.

  “You might want to hurry and ready yourself,” she said softly as she looked him over.

  Colton looked down at his own clothes. He had not slept the last two days and therefore had not changed his clothes. His jacket was slung in a heap on the floor, and his shirt was severely wrinkled.

  “Whatever for?” he asked his sister.

  “Do you not remember? The Duke of Wintercrest invited us to dinner this night and you accepted.”

  The earl leaned back in his chair. He had reluctantly accepted because of the pleadings of his sister. Now that the night was apparently upon him, he was no longer feeling capable of gratifying her wishes.