How to Turn a Frog into a Prince - Bree Wolf Page 0,87

a dignified bow and then stepped aside, waiting for Nathanial to step into the great hall, tall and intimidating.

“Thank you, Gusford.” Letting his gaze travel over the curved staircase and the marble columns, Nathanial all but held his breath. His heart thundered in his chest, and he wondered if Pembroke Hall’s butler could see the pulse thudding in his neck. If he could, his expressionless face betrayed not a thought.

Nathanial momentarily closed his eyes and inhaled a deep breath. Then he turned back to Gusford. “Miss Abigail Spencer, is she here?”

Was she? A part of Nathanial could not believe it to be true. Was Abigail here in England? Here in his house? Not an ocean away?

Gusford inclined his head ever so slightly. “I believe, at present, Miss Spencer is out in the gardens. Shall I send for her?”

Nathanial shook his head, his gaze unerringly traveling to the corridor that led to the back of the house and from there out onto the terrace. “I’ll find her myself,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible as his feet began to move of their own accord.

Only the day before, Nathanial had received her letter. Her words had come as a shock to him. They had also proven a much needed distraction. A distraction he had run toward like a coward. He had not even taken the time to bid Charlaine farewell, to explain, to apologize. He had slunk away in the night, unable to meet her gaze after what had happened.

An image of her dark, soulful eyes rose in his mind, but he shoved it away the moment it surfaced for it brought with it shame and regret. Never would she forgive him.

Never.

Stepping out onto the terrace, Nathanial wondered at the slight chill in the air. Autumn was fast approaching, however, the days had been warm thus far. Perhaps too warm this late in the year. Now, it seemed the weather was changing. The sun seemed to shine with less strength, its warmth a mere imitation of what it had been only the day before. The world seemed colder, less vibrant, less beautiful as though it, too, had suffered a loss and now lay in mourning.

Hesitant strides carried him across the terrace and out into the gardens of Pembroke Hall. Not long ago, Zach and Becca had celebrated their marriage here. It had been a happy day for them, and for Nathanial it had been one most fortunate. He had not known it then, but it had been the day that had changed his life.

It had been the day Charlaine had promised to be his friend.

Nathanial still remembered his distrust when she had approached him. He had been rude, barely speaking to her. He had wanted her to leave him alone. He had not wanted her company. I’m not interested, he had snapped.

And she had laughed.

She had not been impressed by his rude demeanor.

She had not taken affront.

She had not walked away.

Indeed, Charlaine had known the truth even then. She had seen that he had been in dire need of a friend, and she had promised to be that friend for him. He had not wanted her to, but she had not been deterred.

She had been his friend all these months…

…and now he had lost her.

“Nathanial.”

Jerking around, Nathanial stilled. His heartbeat. His breathing. His mind. Everything stopped as he stared at the woman standing by the rosebushes and, for a short second, Nathanial saw Charlaine. He saw her dark eyes, always daring him, always teasing him, her luscious, black hair dancing in the breeze, her warm smile, knowing and patient.

And in that moment, his heart rejoiced.

Then he blinked and found himself looking not at Charlaine, but at Abigail.

After almost a year, she stood before him once again, only a few paces away. Her golden hair shimmered even in the dimming light of a gray afternoon, a loose tendril twirling in the breeze. Her blue eyes looked at him as they always had, stirring memories of days long ago, and the soft curl of her lips reminded him of the plans they had made, the future they had longed for.

Only she hadn’t, had she?

“Abigail.” His voice sounded strained, his throat dry as though he had not spoken in years, his vocal cords no longer able to comply with ease. The moment seemed surreal as though he were merely imagining it. Was she truly here?

“I wondered if you would come,” she said then, her voice tentative, quite unlike the exuberant young woman he had known