Adoring Abigail by Chalon Linton

Author:Chalon Linton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: regency;romance;chalon linton;adoring abigail;captain;war hero;cattersley;inadequate;proper romance;proper;sweet romance;hope;gardens;friendship;vicar;timid;speech impediment
Publisher: Covenant Communications, Inc.
Published: 2019-12-11T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

Miss Abigail Rutherford

I’d discovered the perfect hiding spot while searching for Hazel. When I had the opportunity to hide, I’d been ecstatic. Then Mr. Mead found me. Rather than call out to the group, however, he laid a finger across my lips and pressed himself into the small space.

“Let them search a little longer. There’s no need to spoil their fun.” He stepped forward, closing me in.

My back pressed against the wall. My breath quickened, along with my pulse. The levity of the game diminished, and all I wanted was to be away. In the darkness, Mr. Mead ran a hand down my arm. I closed my eyes, at the same time praying someone would come upon us and that we would not be discovered in such an intimate condition. In the next moment, Mr. Mead made his true intentions known. His gentlemanly guise was a ruse. He leaned his body nearly into mine and whispered near my ear. “You are beautiful, Miss Rutherford.”

The heat of his breath moved across my cheek, and I knew he meant to kiss me. He drew closer still, and despite the confines of the space, I shoved him back and wiggled myself free. I jumped back into the wider walkway and, in my haste to be away, knocked over a candelabra. Then I saw the flame skimming across the top of a cream-colored woven rug.

Mr. Mead stepped from the shadow, and I didn’t know what to fear more—the spreading flame or the stoked fire in Mr. Mead’s eyes.

“Fire!” I shouted.

And then I ran . . . straight into the arms of Mr. Wilkins.

“Miss Rutherford.” He pulled me to his chest, and I could feel the beating of his heart beneath my hand. It matched the rapid pace of my breaths. The peace of his embrace lasted for only a few seconds. His hands moved to my upper arms as he pulled back. “What happened?”

“Th . . . the . . . candle fell.” My words quaked along with my body. I looked over my shoulder. Mr. Mead was nowhere to be seen.

Mr. Wilkins brought my attention back to him. “Miss Rutherford, you must get to safety.” Mr. Poppy appeared then, along with Hazel. “Escort the ladies away,” Mr. Wilkins instructed Mr. Poppy. Then he rushed toward the flames.

The smell of burned carpet and the crackle of the growing flame grew as Mr. Poppy steered us to the main ballroom doors. I clasped Hazel’s hand, and we ran. Servants passed us, heading for the danger. Calls for water and buckets sounded as the smoke thickened.

Hazel shouted for her mother, and through the haze we saw Mrs. Wilkins, Grandmother, and Mrs. Christiansen exit the room. We followed, gathering with the other women in the corridor before rushing down the stairs to the front hall. Mr. Mead stood there, placating the others, offering a scripture about peace and holding Mrs. Adams’s hand in what seemed to be compassion. I wanted to retch.

In fact, my entire body began to protest.

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