His Christmas Pleasure (26 page)

Instead, Celeste nodded sagely. “That’s the way men are,” she said. “Let me tell you something my mother told me after Jon and I had a terrible row. She said, we teach men how to love. They don’t seem to know. They come into this world knowing how to conquer … but they don’t understand that claiming something isn’t the same as loving it. For too many, love is what happens between the sheets. And it becomes a bit competitive. They keep score like in that game of tennis my husband enjoys so much.”

“Score?”

“Yes, if you do this, then I’ll do that. But a funny thing happens, Abby, or at least I’ve found it to be true of Jon, that when a man trusts you, he stops paying attention to who does what for the other. And sometimes the best way he shows you he loves you isn’t with words. That would be simple,” she added dryly. “No, men show their love by taking care of things around us.

By working hard and being certain we are safe. Occasionally there is a man who babbles about love and writes poetry and all that, but most are like Jon—content. He takes his pleasure with me and only me—and expects me to do the same … and we are in love.”

“You heard what happened over Freddie?”

“It was a bit of a scene, what with doors slamming and Freddie grousing around. I’m certain even Aunt Edith heard it,” Celeste said.

Abby closed her eyes, wishing it had not been so. “He’s left.”

“Are you going to go after him?”

There was the question. “We aren’t like you and Jon.” Abby sat silent a moment. “And I don’t know how Andres will act if I return to Stonemoor.

I’m mad for him, Celeste. In London, I lived a very sheltered life. Andres has introduced me to the world. He’d done so much in his lifetime, and I’m proud of what we are doing to Stonemoor. I envision building it into a grand home, just like yours. And he really is excellent with horses. He will restore his family’s reputation. I liked helping him.” “Do you love him?”

Abby raised a hand to her forehead and brushed her hair back with her fingers. “Yes. I love him so much … but this hurts, Celeste. His leaving me hurts.”

“Then we must teach him to never leave you again.”

“How are we going to do that?” Abby asked.

“You are going to London to see your mother. If your husband loves you, if your marriage is worthy of your love, he’ll come for you.”

“He’ll misunderstand my leaving—”

“Abby, you don’t have a choice. You must go. If you don’t and something happens to your mother without the two of you making peace, it will destroy you.”

“But if I leave Andres—?” Abby broke off the thought, heartbroken. “I’ll talk to him.”

“What if he doesn’t come for me?” Abby whispered.

“I saw how he looks at you,” Celeste answered. “He’ll come.”

Abby wasn’t certain, and yet Celeste was right. Abby had to see for herself that her mother was well, and she wanted—no, needed—to know if her husband had true feelings for her.

“What of Freddie?” she asked Celeste. “I know him as well as I know my brothers. He shall be proud of himself for what he has done.” She shook her head. “My poor cousin, having to marry him.”

“Be thankful you have finally seen him for what he is. I shall see to Freddie.

Jon will take him hunting and give him a good talking to. He won’t be a problem. Truly, Abby, he’s my cousin and all, but what did you see in him?”

“I don’t know now.” And it was true. Andres had spoiled her. He’d taught her what it was like to be with a man who considered her a partner … and that was when she started to believe that perhaps Celeste could be right.

Andres might love her.

The possibility was both exciting and frightening. People looked at Andres, saw his face, the many gifts God have given him, and assumed the man needed no one.

She’d thought that, too—but over the last few weeks, she’d learned he was a compassionate man who needed compassion in return. Nor did he trust easily—and she recognized the expression on his face when he’d found her with Freddie. He had trusted her, and he’d felt betrayed.

If he did love her, if he’d been jealous of Freddie’s presence, his behavior this evening made sense.

Celeste was right. Abby wanted more than pretending she and her husband rubbed along well. If she returned to Stonemoor now, it would be to a man with a grudge, a man who expected her to choose him over the welfare of her parents—a choice that was too hard without a meaningful commitment from Andres.

“He has to come to you,” Celeste said, accurately reading Abby’s thoughts.

“If you matter to him, he must say the words.”

“He may not know how,” Abby observed sadly. “Women go to him. He’s never had to put himself out for anyone—ever.”

“Well, he must for you.” Celeste gave her hand a squeeze. “Please, Abby, believe in yourself. You are thoughtful, beautiful—”

“No,” Abby denied.

“Yes,” Celeste insisted. “You are vibrant, intelligent, everything a man wants in a wife. Don’t argue with me. For one moment, just allow yourself to believe.”

Abby sat still. She knew her faults. She could list them for Celeste….

“Believe what I say,” Celeste insisted.

“If it is true, Andres should be kissing the ground where I walk,” Abby answered, half in jest.

“I think he does,” Celeste confided. “He just hasn’t realized it yet.”

Abby shook her head, yet the conviction in Celeste’s voice made her pause.

“How did you come about all this wisdom?”

“The hard way—through experience. Jon is my second husband. My first was a bitter disappointment. I wanted him to love me. I did everything I could but failed. Truly, Abby, men don’t want anything they haven’t had to work at gaining. I made certain Jon wanted me.”

“What if Andres doesn’t come?” That was her greatest fear.

“Then you haven’t lost anything, have you?” Celeste said, practical and wise, and Abby knew she had little choice.

The next morning, she left for London.

At the same time, Celeste took the stablehand and the pony cart and drove to Stonemoor.

Abby prayed Celeste was right.

Andres had arrived home in the very early hours of the morning. Sleep had been impossible, so he’d started building a new paddock, throwing himself into the work.

Women had rarely occupied a large portion of his mind. If one had made him unhappy, there had always been more.

That was not the case with Abby. She’d changed him.

He pounded a nail in with more force than he needed and split the board.

With a soft oath, he ripped it off the fence post and tossed it aside. He’d been at it for hours. The stable lads were tiptoeing around him. He overheard someone mention Abby’s name. They knew she hadn’t returned with him.

Andres tried another board and split it, too. He wanted to blame the wood, but he knew better.

He might have lived a lie, but he’d always been honest with himself.

Yesterday, he had left Stonemoor with high spirits. He’d been proud of what he and Abby were doing here. The windows shone with cleanliness. There was fresh paint everywhere, and his stables were in the process of becoming what he’d envisioned.

Soon Destinada would foal and all the world would see the quality of Ramigio horses. Her baby was going to be a beauty. Andres could feel it.

And now, everything was wrong.

He dropped the hammer and went to the house. He was tired. Exhausted—

and he was waiting for Abby.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have left the Landsdownes’ house party. It had been a tactical error. Instead of leaving, he should have grabbed Sherwin by the nape of his neck and the seat of his breeches and thrown him out the window.

“My lord,” Cook said as he walked past the kitchen, “is Lady Vasconia returning today as planned?” Both she and the scullery maid had worried looks on their faces.

Their concern made Andres angry, then he took a look at himself and frowned. He was still wearing his evening dress breeches and shirt—not exactly clothes a man chose for labor. And he hadn’t shaved. He probably struck them as some wild creature.

But what could he tell them?

That he didn’t know?

Andres would bite off his tongue before saying such a thing … because he expected Abby to come home.

Home.

He’d never really had one. Stonemoor was his dream, and as a dream, it had already exceeded his expectations … because of Abby.

“She should be here soon,” he told Cook and stomped up to the bedroom.

Pouring water into the wash basin, he gave himself a scrubbing. It didn’t do much good. The air was cold. He and Abby didn’t burn fires in empty rooms, and they rarely had a big one at night. Sleeping together and making love had kept them warm.

The thought of her giving herself to another was like a knife sliding into his ribs. She was his.

But he’d given her up. Walked out of Landsdowne’s house without a look backward because he’d truly expected her to follow him. He’d thought she would have been here by now.

As he’d been sawing and pounding, he’d been playing over in his mind the things he planned to say to her. Now it all sounded so contrived. Andres had never had a woman cheat on him. Ever.

That it would have been Abby behaving this way was astounding because, the truth be told, he’d assumed Abby would always be there. She was the one person he’d finally let himself trust—

Andres thrust the thought away. He did not want to think on it. Later, when Abby returned, oh, he’d have some things to say, but first it would be a very cold reception. He might go a day not speaking to her. Let her stew in his unhappiness.

But first, he should make himself look presentable. He picked up his shaving soap. It was hard to mix with cold water. If Abby had been here, he would have had warm water. He wouldn’t even have had to ask for it. It would just have been there, a product of his wife’s good housekeeping and efficiency.

He pulled off his shirt and lathered his beard. He picked up his shaving strop and sharpened his razor. With a sigh, he tried to put his mind to his tedious task. He’d just taken a swipe along his jaw, shaving it of whiskers, when he heard the sound of a horse and wheels.

Andres rushed to the window. He couldn’t see anything at this angle, but Robin, one of the stable lads, was running toward the drive.

Abby had returned.

Shaving was no longer of interest. He looked at his soapy face. He should finish, and yet he had to see her. He needed to.

They had things to say to each other, and shaving could wait. He wiped the soap from his face. He had one strip of smooth skin, but he didn’t care. He started to reach for the shirt he’d thrown aside, but it was filthy. His breeches were still dirty, too.

Andres didn’t want to waste time taking off his boots. He went to the wardrobe and drew out a clean shirt. There was a stack of them folded and neatly put away. His wife had seen to that, and now she was back. She’d returned.

All thoughts of how he would handle her homecoming flew from his mind.

Pulling on the shirt, he started out the door and then thought of a neck cloth. He grabbed one of those, too. His hands were shaking.

His eyes fell on the bed. She was back.

Walking out on her, letting her know his anger, had worked. He’d won his point, but at what cost? He didn’t believe in second chances. He would not take this risk again—or let Abby know how much he cared. Love humbled him. Made him realize that he didn’t like life without Abby.

If she knew how deeply he cared, she could cripple him.

He left the room, forcing himself to move with decorum instead of racing pell-mell to his wife.

Halfway down the stairs, he heard a woman’s voice. It wasn’t Abby’s. He hesitated, recognizing the voice as Celeste’s. Had she accompanied Abby? He waited, listening as Celeste handed her cloak and hat to the maid.

Andres continued down the stairs, tying his neck cloth. He entered the main room off the hall. Celeste stood alone in the center of the room. She heard his step and turned.

“I was almost afraid you weren’t home,” she said in greeting as she walked over to him, her smile wide, her hands outstretched.

He took her hands, bowed over them. “I thought you had guests.”

Abby wasn’t here. She hadn’t returned with Celeste.

“They are relatives and can entertain themselves.” She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “I had to be certain your pony cart was returned safe to you.”

Andres didn’t want reassurance. He wanted his wife. A deep cloud of concern settled over him.

“I’m famished,” Celeste said. “Do you have something to eat? I imagine you could stand to eat as well.”

“I’m not hungry.” He turned from her and walked over to the maid, Ginny, lurking out in the hall. “Have Cook prepare something for our guest.”

“Would you like it served on a tray in there, my lord?” Ginny asked.

“Yes, that would be fine,” Celeste answered for him. She’d walked toward the door and leaned against the doorjamb.

Andres marched past her into the sitting room. “Where is my wife?” he asked. There was no fire in the grate. If Abby had been here, in this room, there would have been a fire.

“She’s on her way to London,” Celeste said.

Her words sucked the air from the room. Andres couldn’t think. She’d left him. She’d gone with Sherwin.

“It’s not what you are thinking,” Celeste hurried to say. She walked over to Andres. “She didn’t go off with my idiot cousin. She had to go see her mother.”

Andres wasn’t certain he’d heard correctly.

“Why?”

Celeste made an impatient sound. “You know Freddie conveyed the message that her mother was ill.”

Andres shrugged, unhappy. “It is what he said. Who knows the truth?”

“She had to go, Andres, to find out. Abby is very close to her parents.”

On one level, he understood what she’d said, but Sherwin had taken hold of his mind. “That fop should not have been at your house.”

“It was a family gathering, Andres,” Celeste said. “He’s a relative. If we had known the history behind all of this, Jonathan would have set him straight.

As it was, we didn’t learn the tale until last night after you’d left.”