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Abigail was the first to step into the carriage with the aim of Azazel’s hand. It was worn from hard work, but gentle and warm. The feeling of his hand lingered on her skin; telling her a story of the man before her. He had worked for his wealth and worked hard. A quality she greatly admired. All of the men who attempted to swoon her heart were all born into their wealth. Suckling at the teat of their father’s hard earned money or worse... at the suffering of workers underpaid in hellish conditions. How she hoped that is not how he earned his living now. Her sister sitting beside her jarred her from her questioning thoughts. She glanced at the woman with a touch of annoyance. Why did she always have to meddle?
“So, Mr. Cambridge, what is it you do?” Marie asked with a saccharine smile watching the man across from her.
“I deal in trade mostly. Teas if you must know.”
“Oh, how exciting!” the elder giggled. “Have you ever been to the East?”
“A couple of times,” he nodded his head seeing interest light in Abigail’s eyes. “Does the East fascinate you?”
“It does,” she replied shyly; her eyes darting to her hands as they fidgeted with a button on her bodice. “I deeply enjoy the lore from Japan.”
“If you enjoy the lore I have the perfect book. If you do not mind me sending it by parcel to you?” he directed the question towards her older sister as she was Abigail’s escort.
“Oh, she would love that!” Marie snatched a pad she held in her handbag for such things. She wrote down their address for him. “There we are. When should we expect it?”
“If the postman does his job, a few days,” he chuckled secretly adoring the postal boy that came by his home. He was such a diligent lad.
“Excellent!” Marie exclaimed joyously peering out the window when they were close to their home. “That is our house right there!”
Azazel tapped the top of the carriage to let the Stage know that they had arrived at their destination. Waiting for the tall tale jerk signaling they had come to a full stop, he stood to hold the door open for them. One by one he helped them out of the carriage. He gathered their bags for them to carry them to the door for them.
“Oh, you needn’t do that...” Abigail blushed feeling as if she were putting him out.
“I insist, my lady,” he gave her that smile she found herself unable to say no for the second time.
She gave the smallest of nods as she began to follow her sister up the walkway. Their servant opened the door to greet them with a courtesy. She was a young Indian woman, whom her father had brought back with him from his travels in India. She had been an abandoned child with nowhere to go, left the starve on the streets. Her father had a bleeding heart for the alone and abandoned. She was a god send, though, even know as she took the bags from Azazel. Bowing, she left to put them in the kitchen.
“Good night, Mr. Cambridge,” Abigail curtseyed before disappearing into the house as fast as her legs could carry her.
Marie shook her head in dismay. “I apologize for my sister’s incivility.”
“No need to apologize. I take no offense,” he reassured her. “Good night, Ms. McCullough.”
“Good night, Mr. Cambridge,” she said walking into the house to give her sister a piece of her mind.