by Martha Keyes
Her father had been correct.
18
Tobias inclined his head once more at Miss Farrell and stepped out into the street.
At least he'd had one successful errand. Whatever Anne's sentiments toward himself or Mr. Hackett, Tobias had to believe that she would approve of what he was attempting to do. He was hopeful, too, that Mrs. Childress was finally coming around to his offer of work and lodging.
She had been very wary of him when he had arrived at the one-room flat she shared with four other women. Any doubts Tobias had about the wisdom of seeking out a woman from Lord Purbeck’s past were laid to rest when he saw the squalor she was living in and the haunted look in her eyes. He had to do something.
Of course, there was still the matter of convincing Louisa Hackett to accept his suggestion for her future, but she might need more time to come to terms with the idea that her husband was not someone she could rely upon for support.
Tobias hadn't received any word from the Bow Street Runner since he had left London. The lack of news wasn't necessarily encouraging. It could be an indicator of one of a few scenarios: that Mr. Hackett was very adept at covering his tracks; that the Runner had been obliged to travel farther afield than he had anticipated and so his communication was delayed; or that there were simply no other victims to be found.
Tobias fervently hoped that it was the last scenario. Even then, Mr. Hackett had caused more than enough pain and suffering to paint a picture of a very black character indeed. Only a very perverse man indeed could manage to rationalize away the things he had done and the pain he had left in his wake. After all, what could possibly justify harming someone like Anne?
A frown descended upon Tobias's brow. The light, all-encompassing joy of the day before at the beach with her contrasted sharply with everything he had felt since then. Their reunion was like a hazy dream—too good to have any business being real. Had it even happened?
That it had been followed so abruptly by Mr. Hackett's unwelcome words made it seem even more implausible. Could he possibly have imagined the deep-seated, connective threads of understanding which had woven themselves between him and Anne? Could he have misinterpreted the way she looked at him? She hardly seemed the type of woman to allow such intimacy where her heart was untouched.
But Mr. Hackett had spoken with such confidence, implying that Anne had left no room for doubt about still loving him.
Of course, Tobias knew Mr. Hackett was a liar and a fraud—it was entirely possible that his words had been untrue, meant to provoke Tobias and unsettle him. And yet they touched so nearly Tobias’s fears.
The marriage between Anne and Mr. Hackett had been a love match, after all. At least on her side. If what Tobias had learned since was any indication, it was highly probable that Mr. Hackett had simply used his impressive charm and formidable acting skill to convince Anne that her regard was returned. But it had been real for Anne.
He closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe in deeply. If the hurt Anne had felt upon learning that her entire marriage had been a lie was anything like the feelings Tobias was struggling against, he found it no wonder that people used the phrase broken heart. Tobias had long doubted whether he had a heart capable of being broken.
But he stood in little doubt now. Just the thought of Anne pining after Mr. Hackett, wishing for times past was enough to make life seem colorless, hopeless, and even cruel.
And now he faced the prospect of causing Anne even further pain when he told her just what kind of man Mr. Hackett was.
He rubbed at his cheek harshly as he made his way back to his carriage. It was an impossible situation. Protecting Anne and achieving justice for her and for all the other women affected—or who would undoubtedly be affected in the future if Tobias did nothing—meant hurting her, if her heart was still attached to Mr. Hackett as the man had so insufferably implied.
But to stand aside wouldn't solve anything.
He needed to tell Anne what he had discovered. She deserved the truth, and it might save her future heartache, even if it meant hurting her temporarily.
Tobias fiddled with the gloves in his hands as he walked down the corridor toward the conservatory, where Mrs. Pinborough had directed him he would find Anne.
But she was not painting when he reached the doorway. A wet canvas sat before her, covered in the makings of a stormy autumn scene, the messy palette and paint-covered brush resting on a table to the side of the canvas, while Anne stood with her back to Tobias, looking down at whatever was in her hands.
He couldn't help but remember yesterday's scene in the conservatory and Anne's unexpectedly warm and joyful reception of him—and all that had followed. No such happy sequence would follow today.
He took in a deep breath and stepped forward. "Anne," he said gently.
She turned toward him but didn't look up from the letter she held, her eyes raking over its contents with a deep crease in her forehead.
He frowned. "What is it?" He moved toward her, and she finally looked up, a stricken look in her eyes.
"He is gone," she said blankly.
"Who?" Tobias said, putting a hand out for the letter.
"Nicholas Hackett," she replied absently.
"What?" he said, taking the letter from her hands.
The action seemed to jolt Anne to the present. "Mrs. Turner says that Louisa is distraught, hardly able to care for James." She put a hand to her forehead.
Tobias scanned the contents as quickly as his eyes would take them in and then swore, smacking the letter in one hand with his gloves in the other hand. Had something tipped the man off? What had caused him to leave only days after coming back? Tobias was still unsure what had brought the man back in the first place. He must have a shred of goodness in him somewhere—some sense of responsibility or affection toward his son.
But evidently not enough to keep him with them.
"You were right," Anne said, looking up at him with guilt in her eyes.
Tobias clenched his teeth to keep himself from saying what he was thinking. Of course I was right. He shook his head, anger and frustration and all of the pent-up emotions from the past day rearing their heads. "And yet you couldn't see past your romanticized vision of him."
Anne reared back slightly, blinking quickly as if she had been hit in the face. "What?"
"You were so certain that it would be the best for Louisa and James if the man stayed."
"How was I to know that he would leave again?"
"Does it really come as such a surprise, Anne? Or perhaps were you hoping that he would come to his senses and ask for another chance with you?"
Anne's mouth sat open, her eyes wide and disbelieving as she looked at him. "Where is this coming from?"
"Mr. Hackett said that you made it quite clear while I was away that you are still in love with him." He ran a hand through his hair, turning away, as though doing so might save him from spewing any more anger at her.
"And you believed him?" Anne said.
He spun around on his heel. "I certainly wouldn't be the first to do so between the two of us, would I?"
She stared at him for a moment, and he tore his eyes away, sure that if he watched the tears welling in her eyes, his anger would crumble and reveal the thing he couldn't bear for her to see: that he wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and hold her.
"I don't wish to be made a fool of, Anne," he said firmly.
A scoffing sound escaped her. "Nor I," she said, the first hint of anger in her voice. "I have had more than enough humiliation over the past year to last me a lifetime, Tobias. Believe me."
He lifted his chin slightly as he met her eyes, the glaze of her tears and the red around her irises turning them a rich, glossy brown.
"You made it very clear from the beginning," she continued with a bite to her voice, "that you would not take kindly to feeling controlled in this marriage, but might I simply suggest that you conduct your affairs with enough discretion that I am not o
bliged to hear of them from my own father? Or to see evidence of them with my own eyes?"
She tipped her head to the side and curtsied, storming out of the conservatory in a rush of sweet violet perfume.
Tobias stared after her bemusedly for a moment, then slammed his fist down on the table of paints, sending the paintbrush flying in the air and into a potted plant.
What in the world was she talking about? What affairs was her father referring to, and how would the man be aware of them, whatever he thought they were? Tobias didn't communicate with Lord Purbeck unless he had to, and they certainly did not run in the same circles.
Whatever Anne's father had given her to believe of Tobias, she had looked stunned—not guilty—when he had accused her of still being in love with Mr. Hackett. And Tobias found great hope in that. Great hope and great guilt, for his words had likely hit a tender mark when he had mocked her for ever believing Mr. Hackett. He had never meant to treat Anne in such a way.
And never had he suspected how like his own father he was before now. He had always taken pride in the fact that he never lost his temper—like his heart, he had assumed his temper was unassailable. Or perhaps even nonexistent.
But marrying Anne had obliterated those boasts. Tobias was no better than his father. He had the same temper as his father underneath his jovial confidence.
And, if anything, his heart had proved to be even more tender and vulnerable than he had imagined.
Tobias couldn't leave her to believe that he would ever willfully hurt her or humiliate her. He wished for nothing better than a lifetime beside Anne, making her smile and laugh, warming her in his arms as he had done at the beach. And if she couldn't return his regard, then at least she should be in no doubt of his.
He crumpled the paper up in his hands and strode determinedly from the room, traversing the corridor between a walk and a run, and taking the stairs two at a time.
Stopping in front of her door—why did they have separate rooms?—he paused to catch his breath and smooth down his waistcoat. "Anne," he said, knocking softly on the door with two knuckles. The door creaked open at the pressure of his knock, and his hand stilled mid-air.
Not a sound emanated from the room, and he pushed the door open a bit wider. A shawl lay haphazardly on the bed, the door of the armoire open, and a crumpled letter on the floor. Tobias suppressed the desire to swear. Anne must have left in haste—likely to the village to comfort Louisa.
And if anyone could comfort the woman, it was Anne. She knew better than anyone what Louisa must be feeling.
But what of the letter on the floor? It was not the one from Mrs. Turner, for Tobias held that in his hand.
He stepped into the room and stooped to pick it up, straightening it with his fingers.
It was from Lord Purbeck—and quite short. Was this what Anne had been referring to when she mentioned hearing of his affairs from her father?
He read the missive, his brow knitting at first, then his eyes widening incredulously as he read further.
He threw his head back, stopping the curse word that rose to his lips. What seeds of suspicion had Lord Purbeck planted in Anne's mind? This was what Anne thought? These were the affairs she had referred to when she spoke of his being more discreet?
To see evidence of them with my own eyes.
What evidence had she seen that she had taken as confirmation of her father's accusations?
He threw the note back onto the floor, rubbing his hand across his lips.
What was he to do? Nicholas Hackett needed to be apprehended. Anne's misapprehensions needed to be rectified.
But the longer Tobias waited, the less likely he was to be able to find Nicholas Hackett—and the more likely the man was to assume a new identity.
Much as he wished to quell any doubt in Anne's mind about where his loyalties and his heart lay, Tobias had to think first of the harm he could possibly prevent.
Confessing to Anne how he felt would have to wait.
He pulled the bell in Anne's room, and the maid who arrived a minute later stopped short upon seeing that it was her master rather than her mistress summoning her.
"Have the coach readied immediately. With four horses."
She nodded and rushed away, Tobias following her through the doorway and striding down the corridor to his own room to change for travel.
Before stepping outside, though, Tobias scratched three lines on a paper:
He has escaped.
Be on the lookout.
I am for Dover.
He signed, sealed, and addressed the hastily-folded paper to the Bow Street Runners, then made his way down the corridor to the small office where Wallace could often be found, running over accounts or responding to business correspondence.
"Wallace," he said urgently, and the man rushed to stand behind his desk. "I must ask you to see that this letter be delivered to London without delay."
Wallace nodded and put out a hand to accept the letter. "Very good, sir. How else may I assist you?"
"The house in the village. I need it to be prepared as quickly as possible."
Wallace's brows went up, but he nodded again. "I will see to arranging that as soon as I have posted your letter."
"Thank you," Tobias said, turning back toward the door. He stopped in the doorway, putting a hand on the wooden frame and clenching his eyes shut. Looking back over his shoulder, he said, "And Wallace? Please tell her ladyship that I…," he hesitated. That I love her. "...That I went after Mr. Hackett and am not entirely certain when I shall return."
Cursing himself for ignoring the Runner's advice that he have a second Runner installed near Hazelhurst to watch Hackett—"For he's no young colt but a rum cove rather, likely to tip you the double soon as he suspicions he's been bubbled," he had said—Tobias ran out to the courtyard and to the waiting coach, saying to the coachman, "Put 'em to!" as he jumped inside.
19
Anne had fully intended to go straight to the Turners where she could help comfort Louisa or take care of James. But the quantity of hot tears she had shed as she walked the tree-lined lane from Hazelhurst to the main village road required her to seek refuge among the trees beside the lane to get a handle on her emotions.
She was only reaping what she had sowed—setting her heart upon Tobias when there had been no mistaking the foolishness of such a course. Not that Anne felt she had consciously chosen such a thing. It had been every bit as unexpected as it would be to anyone else who knew of their marriage of convenience. More so, surely.
He had been very clear, though, about what he expected from their marriage—and she had fully agreed to the arrangement, only to fall headlong in love with him.
She fanned her face with her hands, knowing how crying made her cheeks red, and sighed. She would arrive at the Turners with red eyes, but she hoped that the attention would be on Louisa enough that no one would heed the irregularity of Anne's appearance.
When she stepped into the Turner home, Anne was at first relieved to see that Louisa was not in hysterics, as she had expected her to be from Mrs. Turner's note. It was very like Mrs. Turner to exaggerate, after all.
But Mrs. Turner had not exaggerated. As Anne approached Louisa, it became apparent that the woman's lack of tears was no positive omen. On the contrary, Louisa stared ahead with wide, blank eyes, her posture rigid.
"Hasn't said a word this hour and more," Mrs. Turner said with foreboding as she rocked to and fro with James in her arms. "There's nothing you can do for her right now, my lady. Not until she comes out of this state."
Anne looked frowningly at Louisa, taking her hand between her own. It was limp and unresponsive. Not a flicker of an eyelid indicated that Louisa was even aware of the gesture.
"How do you know that he has truly gone?" Anne said, turning back to Mrs. Turner. "It wouldn't be the first time he has left and returned."
"The only thing he'd return to is the gaol, my lady," said Mrs. Turner with ferocity, "for he made away with my
silverware and my pearls, not to mention my husband's pistol."
Anne shut her eyes. "He is becoming desperate indeed. Heaven forbid he should use the pistol on some poor, innocent soul."
Mrs. Turner shook her head ominously.
Anne blew out a breath of air. "Where can he have gone? He cannot think to evade the law forever, surely."
"My husband suspects he's making for France. And if he's smart, he'll do just that! For I am determined to have my silverware and pearls back."
James stirred in her arms, likely due to her agitation, and she was obliged to apply herself to soothing him.
Anne said nothing. The likelihood of Mrs. Turner ever seeing her possessions again wasn't even worth considering.
James quieted again, and Mrs. Turner looked to Anne with her mouth drawn into a worried line. "I know that this isn't precisely the opportune time to discuss the matter, my lady," she said with a grimace, "but have you and Mr. Cosgrove any plans laid for Louisa and James? For their future? They haven't a penny to their names, and though my heart would gladly keep them here til the end of time, the truth is that we are barely getting by ourselves." Mrs. Turner's voice broke on the last word, and she cleared her throat determinedly. "The harvest this year—"
Anne stood and walked over, shaking her head. "Of course, Mrs. Turner. Say no more. You have done a world of good for Louisa and James, and I have no doubt that God will bless you for it." She laid a hand on the woman's arm, looking her intently in the eyes. "We shan't let you and your family go wanting. If you can ensure Louisa has a warm bed and a roof over her head for a few more nights, my husband and I will ensure that you have plenty of food for your family. And we shall find a situation for Louisa." She looked down at the sleeping baby in Mrs. Turner's arms. "And for James," she said softly.
Mrs. Turner nodded, her eyes filling with water. "Thank you, my lady. You have a saintly soul within you."
