Chapter Nine
Denham House
St. James Place
Mayfair, England
Wallace patted Abigail’s hand where it rested on his sleeve.
Snow fell lightly around them as they strolled through Vauxhall Gardens with the intent to enjoy the Christmastide markets this evening, for he was in the process of re-courting his wife.
It had started frostily enough, for two days ago, his illegitimate son had been delivered to their home by his solicitor, for his mistress had died.
Though Abigail had accepted the boy into their household, she still hadn’t thawed to the idea of raising a child who’d come from his mistress, but they had agreed on a story to share within the beau monde.
The tale went that an obscure cousin on his mother’s side had unexpectedly died without any close living family to take the boy.
He and his wife had left the story vague enough that people wouldn’t question the lineage, for his wife had been a cousin to a marquess.
And since they had no children of their own, they had taken the boy in to raise him as their son.
“Thank you for accompanying me tonight,” he said to his wife as they walked through the wintry world around them. “I wasn’t certain that you would.”
Though her laughter was soft and it still rang a bit false, at least she was laughing and not throwing things at his head. “To be honest, I wanted to cancel at the last second.”
“What changed your mind?”
“You have been so honest and earnest in how you’ve treated me.
That plus the fact that you obviously care for the boy impressed upon me the urge to seek a repair to our union, if that is possible, of course.
” She heaved out a heavy sigh and turned her head to meet his gaze.
“I will admit, the child is quite handsome. He has some of your best features.”
That was something. An absurd wave of warm pleasure surged through his chest. “Thank you. I appreciate that.” The boy’s name was Bartholomew, but they would no doubt refer to him as Bart until he was older.
Wallace had given him the courtesy title of Viscount Doverson.
It would help the boy’s chances as he grew and matured and eventually found a place in the world.
“In another couple of years, we will have him enrolled at Eton.”
“Mmm.” Abigail nodded, but then the shallow brim of her bonnet hid part of her face from his view. “What if the story we’ve invented isn’t believed?”
“Does it matter? I am a damned duke. If someone chooses not to believe what I’ve said, that is not something I need to concern myself with. Whether a duke lies or not, it doesn’t matter, for no one would dare question his word.”
“Do stop, Wallace. You sound like an arse.” But a trace of amusement wove through her voice.
He couldn’t help his chuckle. “Perhaps I am, after everything.”
When the boy had arrived at their townhouse, he was understandably upset.
After all, the only mother he’d ever known had died, but according to the servants in the house, he had been spared seeing her as a corpse.
However, the child got on well enough with the newly promoted nursery maid as well as the governess Wallace had installed a few days before he’d arrived.
They would ease his transition until Wallace could befriend him… and introduce him to Abigail.
For now, he had to focus on his relationship with his wife. If he lost her, nothing else would matter, but she was his whole world. Perhaps that set him apart from other men within the ton, but he didn’t care. When a man found love, it was a devastating thing to lose it.
“We should have gone to your country estate. The boy would have had fun exploring the out of doors, especially if it snows and there’s sledding,” Abigail mentioned with a nod and a smile at an acquaintance they passed.
“There wasn’t time. Perhaps next year, if all goes well.
” In his mind’s eye, he saw them all at Denham Hall during the Christmastide season, laughing and enjoying guests.
Perhaps from the nearby village or even some of his club members would come and bring any children they might have in the coming years.
“Do you remember the year when we hosted the ball where someone let their two baby pigs into the ballroom?”
A string of delighted and quite unexpected laughter came from his wife.
“Oh, heavens, I’d forgotten about that. It was early on in our marriage, and seeing those slippery piglets streaking across the ballroom floor was both shocking and funny.
” She turned her head and gave him a smile.
“It took every one of the footmen plus three men from the village to finally catch those pigs.”
“And by then, the ball was in disarray and completely without form,” he said with amusement in his voice and laughter in his throat. “The rest of the evening was spent playing cards and parlor games.”
“And drinking rum punch and hot toddies until the bulk of our guests were three sheets to the wind.”
He snorted with remembrance. “We had a house full of inebriated adults sleeping off the effects of too much drink all the way through Christmas day.”
“That night, Cook brought up copious pots of the worst tasting tea imaginable.”
“Yes, but her cure for hangovers was quite effective,” Wallace was quick to point out. “I don’t think I’ll ever have the scent of it out of my nose all these years later.” Perhaps the way back into Abigail’s heart was to charm her and keep her remembering the good times they’d spent together.
“Agreed.” A smile lingered at her kissable lips.
Before they reached the stalls and tents for the Christmas market, he led her off the path and onto a shorter path half shrouded by shadows. “But there was always one thing we were sure to do every year that went by,” he said in a lowered voice.
“What was that?” Confusion reflected in her eyes.
“We always danced a waltz on Christmas night no matter where we were or what we were doing.” Then Wallace spontaneously swept her into his arms in an impromptu waltz, moving them over the dead grass and through the light coating of snow.
He didn’t let her go until they were both laughing and a pleasant warmth seeped through his veins.
“God, Abigail, I made so many mistakes in those early years of our marriage.”
Her eyes sparkled. “We both did. There was a steep learning curve for us.”
“Yet somehow, we managed to weather it all.” Until he’d cocked it all up again.
She nodded. “That’s a miracle unto itself.”
“Perhaps, or we just realized what mattered more than petty squabbles and difficulties.” Daring much, he cupped her cheek with a glove-covered hand.
“I won’t say you are more beautiful today than when I married you, for I adore every phase you’ve occupied.
However, tonight, in the snow with the gardens and fairy lights all around?
I’d be an idiot twice over if I didn’t mention you were at least angelic. ”
They were honest words straight from his heart. Would she believe him?
Tears welled in her eyes to magnify the blue depths. “You were always adept with words.”
“Do you believe me?” He thought he might perish right there waiting on her answer.
“I’m not sure.” Slowly, her smile faded. “I can’t just forget what you’ve done or even forgive it right now. It caused a deep wound upon my heart.”
“I know. I’ve continued to make mistakes throughout the course of our marriage, but I have always managed to spring back and fix them.
” Though, how he could fix having a child by his mistress beneath their roof to raise as their son, he didn’t know.
“What’s happened between us might seem insurmountable, but surely you must realize I don’t intend to give up on us. ”
Abigail nodded. “I’m well aware of your determination, Wallace. It was always one of the things I could count on.”
“Good.” Perhaps he was naught but a fool, but he drew her close and pressed his lips to hers despite the fact that they were out in public, even if they were in a semi-private location.
As it had always been, each time their lips met and he tugged her a tiny bit closer, it was as if fire caught between them, for it had been three months since they were last intimate.
“Wallace.” She held him a bit away with a hand to his chest. Don’t tempt me. I’m not in the head space to forgive you yet.”
“Fair enough.” He nodded. “I am content to wait, for I don’t wish to muck this up even worst than I already have.” Though he was hard enough that his cockstand would linger for a while, it was progress, for she’d let him kiss her. It was more than he’d had even last week.
For long moments, his wife remained silent. Then she took his arm once more, and they regained the main walking path. “Tell me about the Duke of Udolpho and his wife. How are they getting on? I wasn’t up to attending the wedding.”
“From all accounts, they hate each other, and during the scandal that forced the marriage, she tried to stab him with a knife.”
“Good heavens.” Abigail put her free hand to her chest. “Why?”
“I have no idea.” He shook his head. “Knowing Udolpho, the past two days have been a horrid mess. I just hope he hasn’t treated her poorly.”
“One of my friends said the new Mrs. Cunningham has been in mourning for quite some time and that there is bad blood between her and her stepmother.” Abigail glanced at him. “Is that true?”
“It might be. The wedding breakfast was slightly chilly in that quarter.”
She frowned. “Is he like many of the other men at the club, with scandalous predilections in the bedroom or the need to play with ropes or toys?”
“Not to my knowledge. He’s merely had a healthy appetite for anything in skirts.
” Then he frowned. Perhaps he shouldn’t venture into that territory.
“I suspect he’s had his heart broken in the past, for he’s alluded to such but hadn’t talked about it.
However, I’m worried about them both. This marriage could help wrench him out of his dark thoughts and even from himself… unless he’s too far gone.”
“Or unless she has,” his wife added in a barely there whisper. “Women can suffer a morass of confusing thoughts as well, especially if they don’t have someone they trust at their side.”
Guilt knotted through his chest. “Yes, well, if they can’t find common ground at this time of year—and Udolpho has made no secret that he hates Christmastide—I fear they will have lost their chance at a happy ending.”
“You always were a secret romantic.” A sigh left her throat as she patted his arm. “It is a matter of fate now. Love will either triumph or it won’t, Wallace. Only they can decide, and in order to do that, they need to trust each other. There is no other way.”
He nodded. “Do you trust me, Abigail?”
“Yes.”
That was good news. “Have you forgiven me?”
“No.”
Fair enough. By the time they reached the first booth, his curiosity had grown. “Will you eventually forgive me? Will we ever be as strong together as we once were?” Panic welled in his chest to think that he had tossed that away.
Her smile was enigmatic. “Keep courting me and we’ll see.”
It was better than he’d had three months ago when she’d thrown a vase at his head.