Abigail would have been delighted by the new state of amity with her mother-in-law had it not happened at quite such in inopportune moment.
By the time Miles had arrived home she had been feeling quite literally ill and suffering from verbal paralysis. Instead of rushing into his arms and telling all, as she had planned to do, she had said nothing at all except to make up a whole depressing arsenal of lies about her afternoon with Lady Beauchamp.
She had told him she was ill. And she had used that excuse to spend the night in her own bed, unable to face his lovemaking with such a burden on her conscience. But she had tossed and turned and cried a little all night long.
“I would change places with you in a trice, sir,” she said now with a laugh to Lord Darlington, who had been teasing the ladies about the comfort in which they were traveling, “except that I would not look quite the thing on your man’s saddle and I would not know quite what to do with my parasol.”
“But I could shade my complexion with it, ma’am,” he said, laughing back at her.
“Its purpose is not to shade me from the sun,” Abigail said, “but to make me look lovely and alluring.”She gave the parasol an energetic twirl.
“This is the moment at which you are to bow from the saddle, Darlington, and assure the lady that she needs no parasol to achieve that effect,” Sir Gerald Stapleton said.
They all laughed, and Lord Darlington leaned forward to address a remark to Constance.
She could die of embarrassment, Abigail thought, looking at Sir Gerald and feeling her eyes slide away again. She had always had an alarming habit of speaking first and thinking after, but the afternoon before had taken the prize. How could she have asked him for a loan? It was unthinkable that she had done so. He was a virtual stranger to her even if he was Miles’s friend. She was going to have to find a moment during the afternoon to explain the episode satisfactorily to him, though she had still not decided exactly what she would say.
She turned her head to look at her husband. It was difficult not to keep staring at him when he looked so splendid on horseback. She smiled when she caught his eye, and dipped the parasol.
Another major embarrassment! How was she going to explain to him in a week or so’s time that she was bleeding again? Would he believe that a recent marriage and unaccustomed sexual activity—but would she find the courage to say just that to him?—had sent her system awry? Why, oh, why had she not simply told him that she had the headache the day before?
It was a relief to arrive finally in Richmond Park and to be able to busy herself organizing everyone for a walk along the rolling lawns and among the ancient oaks. She soon had everything arranged to her satisfaction, and Sir Gerald was strolling with Laura, Boris with Miss Lestock, and Lord Darlington with Constance. Abigail slipped her hand through her husband’s arm.
“You must be feeling very proud of yourself, Abby,” he said. “Everyone is behaving like a puppet on a string—so far.”
“Don’t laugh at me,” she said gaily. “I will take no credit for Constance and Lord Darlington, but I will claim all the glory for Laura and Sir Gerald—you see how compatible they are in height and how easily they converse together? And I shall be observing Miss Lestock and Boris to see if a match can be promoted there. Of course, Boris will have to be more eligible first. Have you found a suitable cheat yet?”
He had been very quiet all through luncheon and had not smiled or conversed a great deal during the journey to Richmond. But he smiled now, and she felt a twinge of relief. She had been wondering if he resented having to attend her picnic.
“I have been interviewing them all morning,” he said. “There are a dozen men eager for the job, not to mention the women.”
“Are there?” she said, smiling at his teasing. “And have you chosen one?”
“I think so,” he said, touching her hand. “I hope that in a couple of days’ time, everything will have been settled. And then you will be able to relax and enjoy your new life.”
She smiled a little but said nothing.
“Are you feeling better?” he asked.
“Oh, yes,” she said brightly. “That indisposition does not last long, you know. One day and I am myself again.”
“Shall I call in a physician?” he asked. “Perhaps he could prescribe something that will help you.”
“No, thank you,” she said, feeling wretched. “I am not always unwell.” She hated the lie. She had never ever felt ill as a result of her monthly cycle.
“Well,” he said, moving his fingers lightly over hers, “perhaps we can arrange it by the time the next one is due, Abby, that we will give you nine months free of even the possibility. Would you like that as much as I would?”