Lady Abigail had been completely put off by Lord Gilchrist. It no longer mattered the types of praise Isabella or Louisa had given him in the past, in Lady Abigail’s mind, he was a horrible person.
Between his coarse words, loud, brazen comments, and the insults he threw directly at her, she found him to be just as ugly a person on the inside as the scars had turned him on the outside. She would rather never cross his path again.
She soon forgot about the earl that seemed to worry her sister-in-law to no end when, the following day, Lord Fenton arrived in time for an afternoon carriage ride.
He was a pleasant enough fellow to ride along with and, in many ways he had been a good friend of hers. Like Mr. Shawn James, races were a means for Lord Fenton to make a little something of himself. He came from a family of four brothers before him.
The first had taken his place as Earl of Dovenshire, the second as a clergyman, the third as a militia officer, and Lord Fenton was the youngest of them all. Lady Abigail felt deeply for the man. Where she still had the opportunity to marry back into the peerage, if she desired, his lot in life was set at birth.
Whether it was because he was the youngest of sons, or the fact that each brother had already claimed all the other reasonable careers, Lord Fenton was left with studying the law. It was not something that he took to well and he was very vocal about his distaste.
Lady Abigail assumed his adventures with gambling were to ensure that he still held the life of a gentleman without having to work for a living. She didn't fault him for this desire. It was a hard thing for some to grow up in the peerage, only to be removed from it as an adult.
“Do you know Lord Heshing well?” Lady Abigail asked as she shielded her face from the sun with her mint green parasol.
As promised, Lord Fenton had arrived at the Wintercrest home in a fetching open carriage to take her around the park. Lady Abigail had chosen to wear the mint green silk walking gown that had a white stripe pattern and delicate lace cuffs.
It was her favorite to wear in the sun because it matched well with her warm skin tone and accentuated the vibrant red of her hair. She didn’t dress so meticulously for the benefit of Lord Fenton. Though he was a good friend of hers, kind, and relatively handsome, he was not the one who occupied her mind as she dressed this morning.
Fenton gave Lady Abigail a sideward glance as he directed the horses at a leisurely pace.
“Having one’s lady speak of another gentleman on a carriage ride is slightly off-putting,” he said with a smile.
She was irritated that he dodged the question.
“I am certainly not your lady. Though I do cherish your friendship, I rather thought you had an eye on Miss Mary Johansson?”
Lord Fenton measured his words carefully before speaking. It was well known that he was drawn to Miss Mary. She was a great beauty. The match, however, would not benefit either of them. Both would be in need of a spouse of significant funds. This was something neither of them had.
“She is a very sweet girl, isn’t she?” he finally said in return. “So, you find Heshing quite a beau, then?”
“I wouldn’t say that, no. I only met him the one time. He seemed very nice though.”
“And handsome, charming, a favorite of the racing circuit, oh, and not to mention an earl,” Fenton teased.
“You are not the only one who has an eye on him,” Lord Fenton continued when Lady Abigail refused to give into his teasing.
“I never said I had an eye on him,” she replied exasperatedly, but still blushed all the same.
Much to Lady Abigail's satisfaction, Lord Heshing was, in fact, present when they came upon the king's road. Even better was the fact that he would not be racing that day. It would give Lady Abigail a chance to have a longer conversation with him.
Though Lord Heshing was not dressed in his riding clothes, he still looked just as handsome as ever in his blue velvet jacket, cream pants, and high boots.
Lord Fenton, ever the kind friend, made sure to park the carriage close to where Heshing was standing. As was customary of a gentleman, Lord Heshing came up to the side of the ride to help Lady Abigail down.
“It is a wonderful day, is it not, Lady Abigail?” Heshing said as he took her hand. “I know most women are not as happy for bright sunny days like this, but I must confess that they are my favorite.”
“I must agree with you, Lord Heshing. Where I live up north, we don’t have many sunny days, and when we do, I refuse to take them for granted.”
“And how do you spend those few days? Perhaps attending races like you are now?” Heshing said as he walked Lady Abigail over to the start line.
Lord Fenton was already hard at work, collecting bets and caring not a whit that his companion had been taken by another.
Lady Abigail smiled up at Heshing, gauging how much she should say. Typically, when meeting a gentleman for the first few times, she would hold herself back and try her best to be more of the timid lady that gentlemen seemed to enjoy.
Looking at the fiery spark in Heshing’s brown eyes and knowing him to have as high a need for adventure as she did, she didn’t feel the need to hold back today.
“There are not very many races at Wintercrest Manor. Instead, I rather like walks in the park surrounding the estate. It gives me a chance to soak up some sun.”
“No doubt the cause of those freckles,” the earl said with a nod to Lady Abigail’s nose.
She covered it, embarrassed, with her gloved hand.
“Don’t worry, I rather like them on you,” he said in a lower tone, causing Lady Abigail to blush profusely.
“I find ladies that sit inside all day long, painting screens or sewing pillows, so dull. Life is meant to be experienced, not merely watched through a window,” Lord Heshing added.
“I couldn’t agree more,” Lady Abigail ventured to say.
He smiled down at her then, satisfied with her reply. Lady Abigail couldn’t help but feel the tingle of excitement as his brilliant white teeth shone down at her.
They stood next to each other, swapping tidbits of information as they watched two gig races in consecutive order.
Lady Abigail was happy to see that Mr. Shawn James was present for the first race and, in fact, won it. It made her feel slightly better for wishing against him earlier.
“James was a good sport,” Lord Heshing said after the final race. “I thought he would have been quite sour, losing to me again.”
“Again? Have you been doing much racing this season already?”
“I have,” he said casually, “but that is not how he lost to me. On occasion, I frequent White’s and try my hand at faro when I have the time. I happened to be there the night before the race and so was James. Let’s just say he lost far more than the cost of a horse that night.”
“Poor Mr. James,” Lady Abigail said, watching the now champion receive his congratulation.
The prize for a gig race was a small purse. Lady Abigail was sure the amount was not even enough to cover the cost of a horse, let alone losses at a gentlemen’s club.
“Well, that is the cost of taking a gamble. You shouldn’t put down a bet unless you are willing to lose it all,” Lord Heshing said firmly.
“What an interesting idea. I am sure most here would say the opposite. Why take a risk if you don’t think you will win more in the end?”
“I suppose it is the heightened sense of the risk, knowing that I might lose it all, and whether I am willing to part with it, that gives me the encouragement I need to see the win in the end.”
“I always felt like card games were more chance than anything else. Are you saying you believe your pure determination and drive is what sets you on top of others?”
“Well, I don’t win every time, I must admit,” Lord Heshing said with a hearty laugh. “But I also must admit that I feel my drive does help me to find myself the champion at the end of the night.”
Lady Abigail spend the next few days thinking over Lord Heshing's words, as she was, in her mind, trapped indoors.
She was doing her best to make a counterpane covering for one of the beds of the Foundling Hospital. Each lady had set her goal when they met and were to work through the week before collecting items to be delivered to the hospital.
It was now the day of the meeting at Lady Louisa’s house and Lady Abigail was frantic to finish the last few stitches of her quilt. It was, by far, the most simplistic bed covering that could be made.
Using a simple linen fabric for the top, wool batting for the middle, and soft wool fabric for the bottom, she had stitched all the corners together. It was a slow, painstaking task, even though it required such simple sewing.
Furthermore, she couldn’t help but notice how her thread line seemed to lean whenever she was distracted. Even worse the stitches turned much larger than the rest every so often as she became impatient with the task.
Once the three pieces were sewn together, no matter how poorly, Lady Abigail then worked on drawing a simple design on the top layer. She did the simplest stitching through all three layers as she created the design. She hoped that it would add to the covering’s sturdiness and keep the woolen batting from moving too much.
Where applique or delicate embroidery were often used on the top of the covering, Lady Abigail had settled on the simple outline of a spring tree with pink blossoms and a bird nesting on a limb.
In the week she worked, she had just about completed the whole project. Currently, she sat in the morning room finishing the last few stitches of the bird’s nest when the duchess came to join her.
In her hand was a large wicker basket filled with several neatly folded blankets. They were beautiful to see even in their hidden state.
Each blanket had a different fabric applique pattern of cotton dotting the front. Isabella had even gone back over the applique adding details to the design with embroidery. Looking in the basket, Lady Abigail guessed there had to be at least six.
She let her own work fall to her lap as she gave a sigh of defeat.
“How is it possible that you have done all that in such a short time?” Lady Abigail asked, full of admiration.
“Well, I have not been as busy as you. With His Grace not allowing me to do much past sitting in the drawing-room day and night, it is a necessity to keep one's hands busy,” the duchess answered.
“Yours looks very lovely. I expect you will make your brother eat a helping of humble pie if he sees it. We must leave shortly, however, for the carriage is ready.”
“I am not done yet,” Lady Abigail said, feeling pitiful to not even have one finished.
It was accurate that she had been out of the house for most part of the past week. She had attended various dinner parties and private receptions. Even with the knowledge that she had been busy with other engagements, Lady Abigail still felt very pitiful at her small accomplishment.
“I am sure we will have time to finish it up at Lady Louisa’s. We are to have luncheon first, after all.”
Lady Abigail was resigned to that fact and got up with her own meager wicker basket of one blanket and some notions.
It had been decided that each week when they met, they would have a luncheon together first and then they would take a carriage over to Foundling Hospital to deliver their creations. The idea had been that they would get to experience some of the joy on the children’s faces.
Lady Abigail was sure whichever child received her covering would more likely struggle to hide the disappointment compared to the others that would be given out today.