“Come on, sweetheart,” he pleaded, his fingers curled around hers. “It’s time to wake up. I’m here waiting for you.”
She didn’t react by so much as the flicker of an eyelid.
“Come on,” he said more insistently. “I need you back with me. I promise, if you’ll just come back, that nothing bad will ever happen to you again.”
He took a deep breath and forced himself to mention the man waiting for her back in Arizona. Perhaps Martin’s name would draw her back as his presence here had not. She must love the man. She had agreed to marry him.
“You have to hurry up and get well so you can go home and marry Martin,” he coaxed. “The wedding’s not that far off, is it?”
Suddenly wistful, he said softly, “I can just picture you as a bride. You’ll be beautiful, Abby. The most beautiful bride ever.”
* * *
A bride. The word came to Abby as if from a great distance, but for some reason it made her heart thud with dread. Just the thought of getting married made the usually fearless Abigail want to run away from home. In fact, she thought that was exactly what she had done. She struggled to reason it out, all the while hearing the taunt that the marriage to Martin was imminent.
“I can’t,” she murmured restlessly.
“Can’t do what?” an unfamiliar voice asked.
“I cannot marry Martin,” she said more firmly.
The remark drew a startled gasp. “Of course, you can. You must, Abby. You know perfectly well the earl is counting on it.”
The earl? The voice, brisk and feminine, startled her almost as much as that reference to a titled gentleman. Abby blinked, then blinked again, unable to believe the scene spread out before her. It appeared she’d awakened from a nap smack in the middle of an English country garden, precisely the kind she’d always dreamed of planting. Roses scented the air. Wildflowers bloomed in profusion. And in the distance she could see what very definitely was not her family’s small, Spanish-style home in Arizona. In fact, this house looked like some ancient, sprawling English manor house.
She drew in a deep breath and tried to remain calm. How the devil had she gotten here? The last thing she remembered was...what?
She shifted slightly, searching for the source of the feminine voice that had been so admonishing. What she found was a lovely young woman no more than eighteen with blond hair and a perfect peaches-and-cream complexion. Her face was shaded by a bonnet. A bonnet? More striking was the demure gown of sprigged muslin that reached all the way to her booted toes. She looked as if she’d been costumed for the cover of one of those Regency romances Abby’s younger sister read by the hundreds.
Abby began to get a very bad feeling about this, even before she glanced down and saw that she was wearing a pale blue dress that was every bit as proper and outdated as her companion’s.
“You know Martin?” she asked cautiously, searching for a frame of reference.
“Of course I do, silly.”
“Then you must see that I cannot marry him.”
“Whyever not? He’s rich. He has a title.”
Obviously they were not talking about the same Martin, Abby decided. She supposed her fianc;aae was reasonably well-to-do, but titled? Not a chance. He was a liberal Democrat, for goodness’ sake.
“Tell me what you see when you look at him,” she suggested.
“You know perfectly well what he looks like. Of course, he may not be the most handsome man on the marriage mart this Season, and he may be a trifle old, but everyone knows he’s the very best catch. Mama was saying, just last night, how terribly lucky you are that your father was able to arrange this marriage before some other woman captured his attention.”
Abby had no idea where she was or how she’d gotten there, but she did have very definite opinions about marrying for anything other than love. “This whole concept of arranged marriages is pure rubbish,” she declared emphatically. “I would never agree to such a marriage.”
The younger woman’s eyes widened with shock. “But what will you tell your papa?” she asked. “Isn’t he set on the match? Hasn’t he already told the earl that you will marry him? No doubt their men of affairs are already working out the details.”
“Well, my father will just have to find some way to explain that a mistake has been made,” Abigail said, every bit as stubbornly as if this were her real marriage they were talking about, rather than some odd dream she seemed to be caught up in.
“I’ve made up my mind,” she declared. “I shall marry a great adventurer, someone who has seen the world. I shall never marry a man who will surely insist that I spend the rest of my days at some moldering old country estate. I shall die from the tedium, I’m sure.”
“And how will you meet this grand adventurer?” her companion asked, clearly fascinated by Abby’s spark of rebellion. “Your papa knows no such gentlemen, does he?”
She thought about it, but could think of none. Could think of very little, if the truth be told. “None have ever come to call, that’s true enough,” Abby lamented. “The only men to visit have been every bit as stuffy and dull as the earl.”
“Then where did you get the crazy notion of marrying a man such as this? From those books you’ve read, no doubt.” Her friend regarded her worriedly. “Abby, I’ve told you often enough that those books were going to be your downfall. Ladies shouldn’t read such things. I’m sure it’s all of your unusual ideas that have intimidated all of
