Persuading Him: A Modern Persuasion Retelling (Pemberley Estates Book 1)

by Keena Richins

  The deep ache intensified, but Anne resisted pressing her hand against her chest. "He still plays? This Rick?" She added, trying to pretend she didn't know the brother.

  "His boys would talk all about it," Al said.

  Boys? Anne took two steps back and grasped the dining chair behind her. If he had boys, then he must be married. And it wasn't to her.

  "It was a big conspiracy to get him to play," Al continued, heading over to his wife. "He always insisted he couldn't play, but they'd catch him practicing, especially one song, over and over."

  Anne tried to keep none of the deep ache registering on her face. If he practiced one song—was that their duet? He had wanted to learn something he could play with her, something they could perform and maybe even have it as their breakout performance when they shot to fame. Rick always spoke of such big, dramatic dreams. She hadn't really cared if they achieved fame or not. All she wanted was to be by his side throughout it all.

  But why would he still play that song after their fight? After everything fell apart? Especially if he was married to someone else?

  "His crew finally got him to play it one night—"

  "His crew?" Anne asked, feeling like she was missing a crucial element to the story.

  Sophy laughed. "Al, she has no idea who you're talking about. Rick is my brother who is—was a captain in the navy."

  "Was?"

  "Yes, he left a year or so back. Now he works for some big corporation."

  Anne held still, waiting for the inevitable news. That he had also married. And had kids.

  "Now he's always hopping about," Al said. "Too busy to settle down anywhere."

  The world seemed to suddenly brighten. He hadn't married after all?

  "Will..." Anne hesitated, but then gathered courage once again. "Will he be coming here?"

  Sophy and Al exchanged a look. "We hope so. We haven't seen him for a long while; he's often too busy."

  "He'll come, love," Al said. "He has to see this amazing house and this amazing lady!"

  Anne flushed, well aware Rick had already seen the house and probably didn't think of her as amazing anymore.

  "Uh, would you like a tour?" Anne offered, hoping to get onto a subject she felt confident.

  "Oh, we wouldn't want to be a bother—"

  "No, I'd be happy to do it," Anne cut in. "Please, follow me." She led them down the hallway to the living room and kitchen, skirting around piles of boxes, and explaining some of the history of the home. The Crofts admired everything as though she led them through an ancient temple replete with golden treasures instead of a common home in a wealthy area. The ache within her deepened. She would have loved to have had them as family. They never once criticized her or raised their noses at the mess, but were always cracking jokes and teasing each other about what they'd plan on doing with the many extra rooms. She hoped Rick would come, at the very least to be around such good people.

  "Your home is so gorgeous," Sophy said as the tour ended and they headed for the front door.

  "Yes, very nice," Al said. "We'll have to get a whole new wardrobe just to fit our new house!"

  Anne couldn't help smiling. She'd been smiling through most of the tour, enjoying all of Al's wisecracks.

  "We'll push off then," Al continued. "And not be in your hair no more."

  "Oh, you weren't," Anne began, trying to come up with a reason for them to stay longer. They made her happy and precious few people pulled that off for Anne, but Al offered his arm to his wife and steered her out the door.

  "Thanks for everything!" They called and Anne waved as they headed for their car, arm in arm, chattering like conniving thieves. Anne leaned against the front door, watching with a longing smile as Al opened his wife's door and bowed as though he was a haughty chauffeur. Sophy's laugh pealed through the air before Al helped her into the car. If Anne had been into painting, this was a scene she'd paint. This was the happy married life she had always dreamed about, the type of life Russelle insisted didn't exist. And yet, here she was, seeing it played out with ease, the two enjoying each other's company without a hint of any aggravation that must have built up over time. If only Russelle could have met them. Then maybe she wouldn't be so dead set against Anne for wanting a similar fate.

  Chapter 6

  Sad, longing notes rose from the piano like a mourning ghost, clinging to the white walls emptied of family photos and warm paintings, sailing past lonely rooms waiting for new occupants, and falling on the freshly scrubbed floor where stacks of boxes had once lain.

  Anne finished the song in a minor key and let the final notes ring like one last cry; then she wiped the piano down and gave it one last longing look before heading out the front door and locking it behind her. She leaned against it with a sigh. She had officially moved out of her home. What the future would bring, she didn't know, but she hoped her home would come back into it.

  And perhaps even Rick.

  She gazed at the driveway, where her car sat, wondering if his car would soon take her spot. And wishing it had come years earlier to take her away.

  She wished his sister had dropped the name of the corporation where he worked. Then she might be able to hunt him down—assuming she had the courage to confront him after all these years. Sometimes she did, but in this moment, the sorrow of the loss of her home was depressing her too much.

  With another sigh, she clambered into her car and began the hour-long drive to Mary's house, heading out of the crowded city and into the lesser populated forested hills of Rhode Island toward, according to Mary, the middle of nowhere. But Anne loved every minute, enjoying the gradual peace and quiet as she left the city behind. She'd love the drive even more if it was fall when glorious bursts of red and yellow could be found around every bend. Winter was even better, with the trees laden with snow. Both those seasons were her favorite, especially the holiday season when family would gather together. Unfortunately, whenever her family gathered, it didn't end with smiles and hugs, but usually with heated cheeks and harsh words, especially between Mary and her father. Both were equally convinced the other would change into the proper daughter and father they expected, yet both ended up leaving with outraged pride. Eliza, of course, would side with their father, leaving Anne all alone to try to keep the situation from exploding and no one cooperating to give that one happy moment Anne wanted to cherish for the rest of the year, especially when spring came. That was her worst season. The earth may be budding back to life, but that was also when her mother died. And when Rick left.

  For the hundredth time, she wondered if he ever thought of her. She glanced at her phone, wishing it would ping with that long-awaited email from him. But the phone remained silent, as silent as he had been. And soon her mind wandered to wondering why he never returned and if she should try to send another email or what would have happened if she had flung caution to the wind and run away with him. But none of those thoughts led to happy conclusions. Only regrets and tears.

  With a frustrated sigh, Anne focused on the drive, determined to find some joy in a life that hadn't gone as well as hoped. When she finally reached the road marked Uppercross, she pulled off the main road and onto the dirt one, making her way up the slight incline through the trees until it crested at the top of a small hill. Before her sat three little hills like a family gathered around a small pond. The smallest hill on the left housed a cute little cottage with a small fenced in garden and a well-used sandbox on either side. Erected on the hill next to the cottage was a large, proud building, once a barn but now a beloved home, and on the far right hill sat a cute rambling farmhouse that had seen better days, with a ladder perched against the side and wood scattered in piles around its base. Beyond the three hills lay a farm and a new barn where this family proudly produced the majority of their own food.

  Anne steered the car down the hill and headed for the little cottage on the left: the home of her sister. As she neared, two little boys, ages five and three, burst out of the house like ro
ckets.

  "Aunt Anne! Aunt Anne!" They chorused as she steered her car in between a beat up truck and a small white car with child car seats in the back. The boys continued their chorus until she swung open her door and stepped out. As if that was a trigger, the two exploded with news, each trying to tell her every little thing that had happened since she had last seen them, even shoving crafted creations into her hands for admiration and praise. Despite the three-year-old's weak grasp of English, he managed to keep up with his older brother's mad pace of words, making sounds Anne had no idea how to translate.

  Anne grinned throughout the entire tirade. She had never admitted it to anyone, but she adored children, especially her nephews. If Anne had to stay permanently and take care of the boys, she wouldn't see it as a prison like their mother or her godmother. She'd view it as a grand adventure and lead them on a quest to become people that were good and kind.

  Like the Crofts.

  She winced at the longing memory and was glad when the boys dragged her to the enclosed garden and she had to focus on figuring out which plant their tiny fingers were trying to indicate.

  The back door abruptly swung open and Mary, brown hair pulled back with a handkerchief, leaned out. "Charles! Walter! Leave your aunt alone or she'll never want to come back and deal with your noise!"

  The boys immediately cowed, heads drooping from hunched shoulders.

  "It's okay," Anne called, dropping into a squat to give her nephews reassuring hugs. "I'm fine with it."

  Mary scoffed and retreated into the house, the door slamming shut behind her.

  The boys hovered around her, their worried eyes imploring hers. She gave them a big smile. "Who wants to help bring in my bags?"

  "Me!" They chorused and bolted to her car. Anne followed, but her mind was on her sister. Mary was mad. It wasn't really much of a surprise—she was often upset over something—but she seemed angrier than usual. Then again, she might be stressed for the upcoming big trip and thus anything was getting on her nerves.

  The boys were arguing over who would bring in the big bag when she reached them. Charlie, the oldest, claimed it was his right since he was biggest while Walter, not yet understanding physics, insisted he was strong enough. Anne had the unfortunate job to break the little three-year-old's heart when she granted the big bag to Charlie. Walter pushed out his lower lip, tucked in his chin, and folded his arms in a huffy pout. She managed to coax him to take the smaller bag, but his pout didn't disappear until she asked if he was big enough to carry her phone as well.

  The protruding lip melted into a big grin and his eyes widened in awe and honor as he grasped the phone like his life depended on its safe arrival. He strutted forward, head held high and phone out like a magical wand, and struggled to pull the little rollaway behind him on the rocky gravel. Anne helped as inconspicuously as she could, not wanting to ruin his walk of pride.

  "Mom!" He cried as he marched into the cottage. Abandoned toys and paper lay mixed with half done laundry strewn about in piles on the floor and heaped upon the two couches. Farther in, Anne caught a glimpse of dirty dishes and forgotten leftovers plopped on the kitchen counters. In the corner of the living room sat Mary, her eyes on a laptop, elbows on a desk overflowing with half-filled notebooks and abandoned planners. Mary was always planning things, but since she spent most of her time planning and researching, she failed to accomplish any of her grand plans. Anne always wondered if Mary planned in order to help her feel like she was doing something while her life went on without her.

  "Look, Mom!" Walter cried. "Aunt Anne's phone!" He held up the prize but Mary's eyes never left the computer screen.

  "That's nice."

  Walter, undeterred, abandoned the small rollaway and marched over to his mother. Rising onto his tiptoes, he pushed the phone in front of the computer. "Look—"

  "Walter!" Mary snatched the phone and slammed her free hand on the table, causing a pile of papers to cascade to the already cluttered floor. "I've told you a thousand times not to touch phones—"

  "It's my fault!" Anne hurried forward as poor Walter dissolved into a sad pout. "I let him carry it."

  "You shouldn't have done that!" Mary spat. "He'll get ideas and I don't need another broken phone!"

  Anne forced a calm smile to her lips. "You're right," she stated evenly. "I should have known better. Sorry about that." She held out her hand for the phone. Walter immediately stuck out his hand for the phone as well, but his mother handed it to Anne, not even noticing Walter's eager hand. The boy's pout reappeared.

  "Good." Mary's attention reverted to the computer screen. A quick glance revealed one of those online arcade games, the points rising higher and higher as Mary directed shiny tokens to the right spots. "Make yourself at home, then. You know the drill."

  Anne nodded, though she doubted Mary would notice. Her sister retreated into arcade games when she was overwhelmed or angry. Judging by the state of the messy house, Anne guessed she was both.

  Anne crouched to the pouting boy's level. "Can you show me to my room?" She knew quite well where it was—the cottage only had one guest room—but the boy's face split into a confident grin and he yanked on her hand, leading her down the hallway with faint hints of scribbled crayons that had survived persistent scrubbing, past the bedroom the boy shared with his older brother, and into the second bedroom, conspicuously clean compared to the rest of the house, with a pair of clean sheets plopped on top of the queen-sized bed.

  Charlie, having deposited her big bag in the middle of the clean floor, sat beside it, trying to unzip it open, but snatched his hands behind his back when Anne entered the room, his eyes wide with guilt.

  Anne smiled and ruffled his hair. "I don't need any help to unpack this time. But, I would like to see my big sand castle!" It was an old tradition of theirs, a way Anne had found to keep them outside for long periods of time while she helped their mother to unwind. The boys whooped with excitement and raced out of the room, already arguing over who would make the bigger castle.

  Anne unpacked quickly, hanging up the few nice outfits she'd brought. The Musgroves rarely left their little utopia and since it was a working farm, nicer clothing didn't tend to last very long. So she always brought her old clothing, items she didn't mind if splattered with muck or attacked with sticky little hands. She sometimes wondered why she bothered buying nice clothing at all since she had yet to ever wear them. But, Anne always liked being prepared. Besides, Mary insisted they threw parties every once in a while, and Anne would hate to attend in her most unflattering clothing.

  With her clothes situated, Anne headed toward her sister, collecting the toys and clothes on the floor as she went. She knew Mary fared better when the house was clean, something she unfortunately pointed out once, triggering a yelling rant. To Mary, the idea that she be expected to keep a clean home when she was forced to live in the middle of nowhere, expected to maintain a garden, half a farm, and control two small boys was impossible, especially with the very little help she received from her husband who was always tinkering with the farm instead of helping her manage the household. Nor did it help that Charles' family sided with him, believing that a woman was supposed to be in charge of the home, not the man. Mary had not been aware of this viewpoint before she had married Charles. Then again, there was a lot she hadn't bothered to learn before marrying. She had wanted to escape a distant and disapproving father but had no desire to toil up a career ladder and work for the rest of her life. Marriage, especially to a cute, beefy boy who seemed to have plenty of money, seemed to be the perfect answer. Alas, Mary learned that being a wife and mother wasn't as easy as she had assumed. Nor had her husband been as well-to-do as she had expected. And Anne couldn't help wondering if the messy house was a passive-aggressive t oaf defiance, and a cry for help from a life she hadn't wanted.

  Not that Mary hated her husband or her kids. She loved them dearly and would lash out at anyone who dared infer she lacked the proper motherly concern. But the tru
th remained that she didn't want to deal with their problems. She wanted to be a queen, lathered with attention, not a mother slaving to help others.

  "Anne!"

  Anne deposited the gathered toys and clothes onto the nearest counter. "Yes, Mary?"

  "What do you think of this?" Her sister gestured to her computer and Anne found a large playset dominating the screen. "The boys keep climbing trees no matter how many times I tell them not to and I swear they're going to break their necks one day. I was thinking of getting one of these and putting it next to the sandbox, but Charles," she rolled her eyes, "thinks climbing trees is more natural than this set. He doesn't seem to care that his own kids could soon be lying dead in the woods as long as it was natural."

  "So, he's against getting one?"

  "Only if we make it ourselves which is ridiculous. Look at that thing! We have savings, why can't we buy it? It's for our kids' safety and that should be far more important than savings!"

  Anne eyed the complex set with four swings, an extended monkey bar, a picnic table underneath, two slides, and a rubber playground under it all. It looked more suited for a park than Mary's backyard, especially since only two young boys would play on it. And it certainly wasn't cheap. Mary may claim they could afford it, but Anne was with Charles: it wasn't worth the money. But siding with Charles would only anger her sister and Anne had no desire to trigger a rant.

  Below the complex set, Anne spotted another, less grand version—and significantly cheaper. Charles may be more inclined to buy it at that price.

  "I think your boys would be safer on this one." She pointed to the smaller set. "The monkey bars are not as high and the slide isn't as steep. Walter won't need as much help getting up those steps, too."

  "You think so?" Mary clicked on the smaller playset, bringing it up to full view. "Huh, you're right, they are lower. That would be safer." She clicked to the former one. "Good grief, this one is almost as tall as me. And it claims it's safe. Do they even know what safe is? Can't believe what marketing companies do these days," she grumbled to herself, clicking back to the smaller set. "But...it's so small..."