Heirs of Acadia - 02 - The Innocent Libertine by T. Davis Bunn

Author:T. Davis Bunn [Bunn, T. Davis]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical, Romance, Acadians—Fiction, Scandals—Fiction, Americans—England—Fiction, London (England)—Fiction
ISBN: 9781585585687
Goodreads: 9826459
Publisher: Bethany House Publishers
Published: 2004-09-01T05:00:00+00:00

Abigail dressed and went down for breakfast, fearful that the entire household had heard her cries on awakening from her nightmare. She entered the kitchen hesitantly. Gazes all turned her way, inquiring, inspecting. She lowered her head and took aim at the chair her grandmother pulled out for her. A bowl of porridge was settled in front of her, then a steaming cup of tea followed by a little pitcher of fresh cream. Her grandmother began introductions. The cook stood by the stove, preparing her grandfather’s breakfast. A younger woman, the maid, stood polishing silverware by the big rear window. Abigail did not catch their names. She focused upon her bowl of porridge and remained silent after her acknowledging nods.

The door behind her opened and another woman came in, this one introduced as a nurse employed to help with Abigail’s grandfather. He had, according to her grandmother, become increasingly doddery this past year. A man stumped into the kitchen from the rear door, wishing Mrs. Cutter a grand good morning and calling for his tea. He was introduced as the gardener. The kitchen now held six people and felt very cramped. Abigail did not need to lift her head to feel the eyes watching her.

Abigail finished and placed her spoon in the bowl.

“Would you care for more porridge?” her grandmother asked.

“No, thank you, ma’am.”

“Susie, pour the young lady another cup of tea.”

“I’m fine, really, thank you.”

Her grandmother seemed to take that as the signal she had been waiting for. She pulled her chair up close.

“My dear, I want you to tell me about your companion.”

The question was not expected, and Abigail required a moment to understand properly.

“The countess. She really is a titled lady?”

“Y-yes. Her husband was the count of Wantage.”

“Was?”

“He has died.”

“Do you know when?”

Abigail lifted her gaze. “Over a year ago.”

“Land sakes,” the cook said at the stove.

“It’s Providence,” the maid declared as she refilled Mrs. Cutter’s cup. “Mark my words. Providence is here among us this very morn.”

At the end of the table, the gardener asked, “Where is she now?”

“Pacing the front parlor,” the maid reported. “I asked did she want tea, but the lady didn’t hear me at all.”

“Is she as lovely as they are telling me?” the gardener asked.

“You wait till you see her,” the cook answered stoutly. “Take the breath right out of your body, that woman will.”

Her grandmother ignored them all and focused her gaze on Abigail. “How old is she? Do you know?”

“Not for certain,” Abigail replied slowly. “But she has a son.”

“Providence,” the maid said with a firm nod of her head. “Mark my words.”

“How old is the boy?” the cook asked her.

“I’m not . . . Yes, I remember now. Byron is fifteen.”

“That’s not possible,” the cook said, banging her spoon against the pot. “That lady isn’t old enough to have a child nearing man size.”

“But she does. I recall distinctly my parents talking about this.”

Abigail’s grandmother asked, “What can you tell me about her?”

Abigail looked around the room, puzzled by their curiosity.

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