“Take good care of her,” Hannah had implored, her bottom lip wobbling as her mother picked up the kitten and passed it to Abigail. “That one is my favorite.”
“Oh, then I really couldn’t—”
“They areallher favorite.” Over the top of Hannah’s head, Lydia had rolled her eyes before she tousled her daughter’s hair.“Darling, we’ve five left, plus Penny, and another two at home. That’s enough cats.”
“Thatisa lot of cats,” Abigail had noted.
“I’m so glad you understand.”
“But—”
“Thank you again, doctor!” Lydia called out over her shoulder before she had steered Hannah, Penny, and the basket of kittens out of the office with expertly timed finesse.
“Well,” Abigail had spoken into the silence that followed. Gently lifting her new pet under its front legs, she’d examined the kitten with a critical eye that had softened when the little creature released a quite pitiful soundingmewl. “It’s all right. No need for that. I’m sure there is a book to be found on the care and considerations of raising a young feline. Until I read it, I suppose the first thing to be done is to name you, and then a warm bowl of cream to fill your belly. Would you like that... Susan?”
The kitten’s orange fur, lighter in some spots and darker in others, reminded her of the patch of black-eyed Susans that her mother had lovingly cultivated every summer outside their cottage window.
“I could use a friend,” she’d whispered in confidence to Susan as she had removed glass beakers from a wooden crate, padded the bottom with a folded blanket, and put the kitten inside. “We’re leaving Manhattan in the morning, and I don’t know anyone where we’re going. I have a husband, but he’s in London. And I... I am all by myself.”
It was the first time she’d said as much out loud, and she still remembered how the words had clogged in her throat. Strange, given that she wanted to be independent. To not have to rely on anyone else. To make her own decisions. But she’d failed to anticipate how isolating it could be. Even at college, while the other students—all male—had finished class for the day, they’dgone to a bar, or a play, or a dinner party, while Abigail had gone home to her books.
“I’m very sorry that I was away for the night, Susan,” she told the cat now, who had grown from a shy, fluffy kitten into a sleek, highly opinionated feline whose green eyes were currently narrowed into thin slits of disapproval. “I had to speak with the Duchess of Southwick. You understand, don’t you, Ferdinand?” A handsome black cat with white whiskers purred loudly as he rubbed his head against her ankles. She scratched his back, then looked up and sighed. “Cleo, we’ve discussed this. You cannot be up on the top shelf! That’s where I keep all of the”—crash—“glass thermometers. Oh, Cleo. Notagain.”
The youngest and most mischievous of her cats, a short-haired gray tabby, gave an unapologetic meow as she tip-toed through the shards of broken glass and beads of silver mercury, then bounded out of sight. Grumbling under her breath, Abigail put on a pair of gloves before she knelt down and began to clean up the mess while Susan, still miffed, and Ferdinand, lovingly oblivious, jumped up onto the windowsill to observe people walking by.
After repairing the damage Cleo had done, she went upstairs to fill a compact leather portmanteau with the essentials. Mostly books, intermingled with shoes, hair pins, an extra pair of spectacles, and undergarments. Given that she and Mara were nearly the same height, the duchess had already assured her that there would be plenty of clothes for her to wear at Southwick Castle, and to not pack more than a bag or two given how much space the cat carriers would require.
Custom built by a cabinetmaker in Boston, where she had lived temporarily before making her way to London, the carriers were rectangular in shape with a hinged door in the front, a cushioned bottom similar to a carriage seat, and wire sides to ensure proper ventilation. The cabinet maker had looked at heroddly when she’d laid out a roughly drawn sketch of what she’d wanted, but money was money, and Abigail was more than pleased with the final product as it had ensured her beloved pets safe travel across the Atlantic, a journey that could have been quite perilous had they gotten loose on the ship.
She was peering under the bed in search of a missing stocking when a knock from below caused her to frown. To the best of her knowledge, she had no scheduled patients until later in the afternoon, and she’d placed her neatly writtenClosedplacard in the window yesterday evening before departing for Grosvenor Square. Unless Susan, in a fit of feline revenge for being left to fend for herself for the night, had knocked it over.
“That cat is going to be the death of me,” she muttered with equal parts exasperation and affection as she abandoned her hunt for the stocking and went downstairs to answer the door.
“Unless this is an emergency,” she began, turning the lock, “I apologize, but you will have to make a—you.” She staggered back as the door swung inward, revealing the devil that loomed, dark and dangerous, on her front step.
“Abigail.” The side of Stephen’s mouth lifted in a half smile, but above it his eyes were as cold as the air outside as his gaze raked from the top of her head to the bottom of her skirts before settling on her pale countenance where all of the blood was slowly draining from her cheeks. “Happy to see me?”
Chapter Seven
Three Years Ago
Mystic, Connecticut
“Not to worry,Susan,” Abigail said with forced cheer as they both stared at the door of her rented riverside cottage and waited for the bell tied to the doorknob with a slip of velvet ribbon to jingle. “There are a lot of people out and about today. Someone will require medical services.”
That much was true. With Christmas right around the corner, the small town of Mystic, a coastal village known for its shipbuilding, was bustling. All up and down the street, Abigail could hear the faint jingle ofotherbells as doors were pushed open and customers piled in to buy their loved ones handkerchiefs, jams, and jewelry. Unfortunately, her own door remained stubbornly untouched.
“Maybe they’re not able to read the sign. Maybe I need to make it larger.” Removing her brand-new spectacles that had arrived only last week from an optician in Philadelphia after she’d found herself squinting at blurry objects that were once clear, she massaged the tender skin on the bridge of her nose before slipping them back on to watch the door with even more intensity, as if by staring hard enough she could somehow will a patient to walk through.
It didn’t work.
Sensing her owner’s distress, Susan jumped down from the window and began to purr as she wound herself in and out of Abigail’s legs, her orange-and-black tail waving in the air.
“You’re probably right,” Abigail concluded. “They’ll come after they’re done shopping. No one wants to be sniffling on Christmas, and I’ve heard quite a few coughs already. I should go out, shouldn’t I? Go for a walk at the park on the bluffs. Would you like to come, Susan?”
The cat’s ear flattened.
“We can try the harness I made for you.”
