Healing Her Heart Read online

  Chapter 1

  England, 1822

  Air. I need air. Abigail clenched her fists, her knuckles pressing against the unforgiving wood of the pine casket. Please Jane, come quick. Everything hinged on this moment. If her plan did not succeed then she would rather die here, right now.

  “Hang on, Abigail. I will get you out of there,” Jane whispered as she tried to free Abigail. Jane budged the lid of the coffin. Abigail inhaled the cold air. It smelled of late March, a mixture of chimney smoke and budding Hyacinth.

  “It’ll just be another minute,” Jane promised. The heavy wood only moved an inch with each thrust of her body against it.

  It had been three years since her grandfather’s death. Three years filled with unspeakable abuse. I miss you grandpa. I need your strength. She remembered the soothing sound of her grandfather’s chuckle after he had let her beat him at chess. Her grandfather was the embodiment of goodness.

  Abigail’s grandfather, Dr. Phillip Jenner, was a highly skilled physician who lived near the city of Canterbury. He had raised Abigail after a tragic carriage accident had killed her parents.

  Abigail could recite by memory every ingredient that belonged in his elixirs. Her grandfather prided himself on the use of herbal remedies to cure a variety of ailments. She would never have dreamed she would use this knowledge to fake her own death. Abigail could still taste the vile mixture of laudanum and valerian root on the roof of her mouth.

  “You did it! Just a few more hours and you will be free of that hateful monster,” Jane declared as she pulled Abigail to her feet and gave her a thorough once over. “I find it hard to believe that even when you are dead you are still beautiful.”

  Abigail thanked God for having Jane in her life. Jane ran the local orphanage and they had bonded when Abigail was able to treat a virulent type of winter fever that ran rampant amongst the children. “Did anyone see you?” Abigail asked with visible fear. With lightning speed, she threw the sand bags she had asked Jane to bring into the casket. “Help me put the top back on.”

  “Not a soul,” Jane swore as she grabbed the other end of the heavy plank. “Stop worrying, Abigail. Your performance was truly brilliant. The servants have been sobbing all day. The entire village is coming to your burial tomorrow to say their final good-byes.”

  Abigail admitted to herself it was easier than she thought to trick everyone. A modest amount of cat hair to produce watery eyes, some flour to make her pale as a ghost and egg whites mixed with cherry jam made it seem like she was spitting up large volumes of blood.

  “Jane, you are amazing. How can I ever thank you?” Abigail asked with tears of joy brimming in her eyes. “I could never have pulled this off without your help.”

  Jane’s face was a solemn mask. “That mad man would have killed you someday. I could not have lived with myself if I had let that happen,” Jane announced with grim reality, scanning the darkness of the night. “We need to leave quickly before anyone sees us. Are you ready?”

  Abigail stared in the distance at the pristine residence she shared with her husband Clayton Bainbridge, the Viscount of Barclay. The estate was happily situated amongst the breathtaking landscape of Kent, the trickling sounds of the Great Stout added to the soothing ambience of the spectacular mansion. It was a scene of tranquility and peace. Likely, no one could ever imagine the type of brutality she had endured inside those elegantly decorated walls. “I have never been more ready to leave a place in my entire life.”

  Jane gave a silent nod of approval and they both ran north. The only sound heard for the next three miles was the crunching noise of their boots treading against the frost covered fields. Abigail smiled. Spring would be here soon, and the change of season promised a fresh start.

  They arrived at the old abandoned barn that had been her private refuge. It still carried the aroma of witch hazel. Abigail had spilled an entire bottle to clean the cigar burns on her backside. She recalled how soothing the cool liquid had felt on her hot skin.

  Abigail spotted her grandfather’s black leather medical bag. She could never leave it behind. “When does the coach leave Ashford?” Abigail asked eager to arrive in London.

  “The coach leaves at daybreak,” Jane answered as she handed Abigail a satchel filled with clothing. “You will be staying at Brindle Lodge when you arrive in London. Lady Caroline Sunderland will be expecting you to call. I told her my friend was recently widowed and in desperate need of work as a governess.”

  Lady Sunderland had thrown many charitable events that benefited the orphanage. Most members of peerage would turn up their nose at helping a stranger, but Lady Sunderland was a different kind of noble.

  “Are you sure someone is going to hire me? I have no references,” Abigail stated as she carefully put on a blond wig over her shiny raven hair.

  Jane tucked an envelope into Abigail’s satchel. “That is a reference letter from your former employer before you were married. It seems you had your hands full with five-year-old identical twin boys.”

  Abigail shot Jane a dubious smile. Jane was an excellent storyteller. The children of the orphanage could listen all day long to her imaginary tales. “Yes, I do recall the time they put a frog in my bed. I was afraid to go to sleep for weeks.”

  Jane let out an inelegant snort. “I am going to miss you, Abigail,” Jane stated as her smile turned to a frown. “You are the best friend I have ever known.”

  The brief moment of levity was broken. Abigail grabbed her satchel and draped herself in a black muslin wrap. Her throat felt like sawdust and her stomach began to churn. “Do you remember the first time we met?” Abigail asked with a ghost of a smile as Jane nodded the affirmative. “You had a terrible case of poison oak and were desperate for some relief.”

  “Do not remind me. I vowed never again to go apple picking with the children. The lotion you made for me was the only thing that relieved the awful itch,” Jane declared as she had the sudden urge to scratch her forearm. “You were my hero.”

  “That is just it. You made me feel like a hero,” Abigail recalled, reaching out to put a strand of Jane’s strawberry blond hair behind her ear. “Clayton had made me feel so useless and you made me feel so needed. Your friendship brought me back to life and it is something I will never forget,” Abigail declared with a fierce intensity. “When enough time has passed you will visit me in London.”

  “Absolutely,” Jane vowed with genuine conviction. “Our charity event for the orphanage is set for late May. It will be the perfect opportunity to catch up.”

  “It is best that I start my journey. I have a good seven miles of dirt road ahead of me.” Abigail plastered a smile on her face to disguise her fear. Be brave. You can do this.

  “You are a free woman, Abigail. Think of this moment as if you are starting a wonderful new adventure,” Jane said, and bit her lip, clearly doing her best to hold back tears. “You may not believe me, but I had a dream about you last night. The details are a bit fuzzy, but I saw you holding pink Gerber daisies and you were smiling from ear to ear. I know it seems silly, but I feel it in my bones that everything is going to be all right.”

  Jane’s words renewed Abigail’s strength. She felt her grandfather’s spirit surround her. Abigail hugged Jane good-bye and walked out of the barn without looking back. Abigail sprinted, once her feet touched the main road. The frigid night air made her chest heavy. Tears started to roll down her face. Tears of joy.

  London, the following day

  “Just take care of my Olivia.” That was his sister-in-law, Audrey’s final words to him. Lord Marcus Everton stared out the window of his study. It was a particularly rainy day and the dreariness suited his dark mood. It had been two months since Audrey had passed away from rheumatic fev
er. Two months since Olivia had smiled. He knew very little about the inner workings of an eight-year-old girl, but he knew her unhappiness was his fault. Everything was his fault and he needed to fix it.

  “Mr. Jordan Stockdale is here, my lord. May I show him in,” Grumman asked.

  “Of course, Grumman. Please ask cook to make some refreshments.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Grumman said. Marcus noticed the smile that lit up the old man’s face as he exited the room. Grumman hated being idle and was eager to have a task to complete.

  “It is high time you start enjoying yourself again,” Jordan Stockdale offered as he eyed his friend’s haggard appearance. “You need a good shave and an evening filled with debauchery. There is a match tonight at McCaffrey’s. It is supposed to be a blood bath.”

  Marcus had known Jordan since they fought side by side in the Peninsular Wars. They witnessed unspeakable carnage and had saved each other’s hides countless times on the battlefield. Jordan was one of the few people in the world he trusted. “Debauchery is the last thing I need,” Marcus replied.

  “It is exactly what you need,” Jordan argued as he helped himself to a glass of scotch. “You need to start living again. Half the widows in London are consumed with depression at your absence.”

  Marcus knew he had to explain his new plan to Jordan. He sat down in his leather embossed chair and prepared himself for his friend’s reaction. “I will start living again. Just a different sort of living,” Marcus announced as a perplexed look appeared on Jordan’s face. “Let me clarify.”

  “Please do. I think I am going to enjoy this.” Jordan smirked as he drained the contents of his glass.

  Marcus knew Jordan would be the hardest to convince. “As you know I am responsible for the well-being of my niece and I will do everything in my power to ensure her happiness.” Marcus stood up and refilled Jordan’s glass. Perhaps Jordan would take the news better if he were inebriated. “Try this...it is from my new distillery in Deanston.”

  “Get to the point,” Jordan said impatiently. “You were speaking of Olivia.”

  “Yes, Olivia.” Marcus saw no use in stalling. “For my niece’s sake I plan on changing my lifestyle. It is in her best interest I take a wife this season. A girl needs a mother and I plan on cleaning up my reputation and marrying a proper English bride.”

  Jordan could not hide his shock. “You cannot be serious. You have always acquainted marriage with a fate worse than death,” Jordan said as his eyes filled with realization. “This is because you still blame yourself for Stephen’s death.”

  “Need I remind you I am responsible for my brother’s death? Had I not been blinded by lust, Stephen would still be alive and that little girl upstairs would not be an orphan.” Marcus could still feel Stephen’s warm blood on his hands after he was fatally wounded in battle. It was his duty to protect his younger brother, but he had inadvertently fed him to the wolves.

  “When are you going to stop blaming yourself? Marissa fooled us all. It was impossible to know her true intentions,” Jordan responded with frustration. “And please explain to me how you caused your sister-in-law to contract rheumatic fever. I would love to know how her death is also your fault.”

  Because...just maybe...if she had Stephen in her life, she would have put up more of a fight. Marcus was about to voice those exact thoughts when Grumman appeared with a tray full of meats and cheeses. “I hope this will satisfy you, my lord.”

  “Grumman, it appears you have a lot of work to do. It will take you weeks to ready the townhouse for a wedding,” Jordan said, shuddering at the idea of matrimony.

  It was no secret Jordan held little regard for women except when they were in his bed. Jordan and Marcus were very alike in that respect.

  Grumman slapped his hands together with delight. “What a pleasant surprise, my lord. Who is the lucky lady?” Grumman asked, eager to get started on the preparations.

  “There is no lucky lady at present, Grumman, but that will all change in the next several weeks,” Marcus stated, as Grumman’s grey brows furrowed together in confusion.

  Jordan decided to step in and relieve Grumman’s perplexity. “Your master has decided to get married in order to benefit Olivia,” Jordan explained. “Exactly how it will benefit her I am not sure.”

  Marcus removed a piece of paper from one of the neatly organized stacks on his desk. He felt relaxed as his eyes focused on the paper. Order and structure always put him at ease. “One...she will be supplied with a female role model. Two...she will be receiving motherly affection...”

  “Oh, dear God...you have created one of your lists for this matter,” Jordan said in an exasperated tone. “I know I will never be given an award for sensitivity, but you are simply ridiculous,” Jordan sighed as he made his point. “She is a little girl, not your next shipping venture.”

  Grumman was trying desperately to make sense of the situation. He had been employed by the Everton family for the past thirty-five years and prided himself on making sure the entire household ran smoothly. “Lord Everton, may I be so bold as to offer some advice?” Grumman asked as he set down the serving platter.

  Marcus hid his grin. He held Grumman in high regards and considered him to be more than just an employee. After all, when he was a boy, the man used to sneak him extra chocolate biscuits. Treating him like a servant just felt wrong. “You may.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” Grumman said as he chose his next words carefully. “I agree you should be concerned with Olivia. She hardly eats and the staff reports that she routinely cries herself to sleep.”

  Marcus raked his hands through his hair in frustration and gave Jordan a hard stare. “Now do you understand why I have to take action?”

  Grumman chimed in before Jordan had a chance to answer. “May I suggest you hire a new governess? Miss Teasley is all wrong for the job. She has an awful temper and seems to lose patience with Olivia’s lack of concentration,” Grumman continued, “She had the audacity to hit Olivia’s wrists with a ruler when she was daydreaming during her history lesson. The poor child just lost her mother and that dreadful woman expected her to be interested in the Roman Empire.”

  “How dare that woman lay a finger on my niece!” Marcus shouted, his temper ignited. “Grumman, pack her bags and throw her out.”

  Grumman beamed, a clear sign he was satisfied with Marcus’s decision. “At once, my lord.”

  “Marcus, you do not need a wife. You need a suitable governess,” Jordan argued as he watched Grumman leave the room.

  “I need both,” Marcus asserted. “I will have the agency send someone over immediately.”

  “An agency can help you find a wife?” Jordan joked, but when he noticed Marcus’ troubled expression he offered a suggestion. “Perhaps Lady Sunderland can be of some assistance. Robert’s wife is always good in these situations.”

  “I agree. I will call on her today,” Marcus said. “She will be able to find someone that is perfect for Olivia.”

  Chapter 2

  Abigail noticed the thriving cherry blossoms as she walked along Franklin Street. The last time she had been in London was when she was twelve years old. Her grandfather was asked to treat the elderly dowager Duchess of York when she developed a case of lung fever. She remembered being mesmerized by all the sights and sounds of the busy metropolis. It was Christmastime then and she recalled sitting with her grandfather at Saint James Church for midnight mass. She felt so safe then, a stark difference from her current situation.

  She arrived at the Sunderland townhouse on Bedford Square. The butler showed her into the drawing room. It was such a happy room, filled with sunlight and freshly cut flowers. A footman placed a delicate porcelain tea service on an exceptionally well-made Hepplewhite mahogany breakfast table. Her mouth watered when he put down a tray full of freshly baked lemon scones, covered in white icing. She always did have a terrible sweet tooth.

  “You must be Miss Abigail Jenner. Jane has told me all about you,” La
dy Caroline Sunderland said with a warm smile. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

  Abigail stood and curtsied. Lady Caroline Sunderland, the Countess of Haverford, was lovely. Caroline’s golden hair was fashioned in a tight chignon which accentuated her high cheekbones and almond shaped eyes. She wore a simple morning dress of green silk taffeta that was altered to fit her ever expanding waistline. Abigail estimated she was at least seven months along with child. “The pleasure is all mine, Lady Sunderland,” Abigail responded. “I feel grateful you took time from your busy schedule to meet with me.”

  “Do not be silly. I appreciate the company. My condition has made it hard to get around these days, so I love having visitors to keep me entertained,” Caroline said as she poured them tea. Abigail found it refreshing that Lady Sunderland served the tea and did not delegate the task to a servant. “One lump or two?”

  Abigail doubted Lady Sunderland lacked for companionship but appreciated her attempt to put her at ease. “Three, actually,” Abigail smiled. “It seems I much prefer the sugar to the actual tea.”

  Caroline giggled. “I usually feel the same way,” Caroline said as she touched her stomach. But lately sweets have had a terrible effect on me,” Caroline explained. “In truth, everything seems to make me ill.”

  Abigail knew the perfect remedy for Caroline. The blend of cardamom, chamomile and star anise always did the trick. “Lady Sunderland, my grandfather was a physician and he used to make a special powder that would help relieve symptoms of morning sickness. It would be my pleasure to send you the preparation to try.”

  “I would be happy to try anything. These last few months have been dreadful. I will send a footman to pick it up directly,” Caroline said. She picked up a letter and placed her spectacles on. “Jane wrote such wonderful things about your character,” Caroline stated as she reviewed the letter. Caroline took a deep swallow as her eyes filled with sadness. “I must offer my condolences on the loss of your husband. He sounds like a very brave man.”