by Liz Tyner
Her mother put the bottle on the table. ‘You know I need you close when my breathing is bad.’
‘But the doctor is here now.’
‘Yes. And the curatives he’s given me do help tremendously.’
Her mother reached out and patted Annie on the elbow. ‘Please try to like Mr Barrett, Annie. Your father says he is extremely knowledgeable about business.’
‘He mentioned that he likes to fight.’ Annie looked at her mother.
‘Well, dear one, that’s what I mean by rough, but just be pleasant to him. Your father said their business is almost finished. While he’s not pleased with the ideas for the shops, he’s going to go along with them. I think the beeswax candles are fine just as they are, although I don’t mind the oil. He thinks it will some day be a thing of the past. He also thinks your father should visit the shop more. You would think a viscount’s son would know as much as an earl’s cousin. People are hired to take care of those matters.’
Annie stood, brushed her hand along the top of the dressing table and picked up the perfume bottle.
Barrett would never accept her plan to be with her sister, believing four walls were more important than bringing her sister back into the home.
But if she succeeded, then maybe Laura would somehow find them as well—although no one even knew where her husband had taken her. With the three of them in London again at least she wouldn’t feel so abandoned. Not that she wanted to listen to those blasted sonnets one more time.
She touched the metal of the pendant hanging at her neck. She would leave a note for her parents so they wouldn’t worry. They wouldn’t understand, but they wouldn’t be able to find her.
Barrett was moving on and she would go forward as well.
She made a fist and turned away from her mother and punched at the air. She’d survive whatever might happen, although she doubted she could ever truly defend herself.
* * *
During a dinner in which the physician regaled them with stories of his days at his studies and her parents listened, Barrett contributed to the conversation just enough so that they could tell he was in the same room and she said even less.
He ate, his attention more focused on the food, she thought. Except, every so often when the physician said something, he would look across at him, giving a grimace, which might have covered a smile, and sometimes a smile that covered a grimace.
Barrett had heard the stories before. She could tell when he gave a sideways twist of his head and the physician changed the course of his words.
The physician’s perfectly combed hair and aquiline features would have fit well in any drawing room. Barrett’s hair was on the longish side, his cravat was tied in the minimum twist and his coat had nothing to commend it. The buttons were plain dark ones, not the fashionable embroidered or brass or ones with inlaid stones. Yet Barrett captured her notice while the physician blended in with the woodwork.
But they were alike. Perhaps the chin. The jawline. Different eyes. Not quite the same build and nothing she would have noticed if they’d not been sitting so close.
She listened carefully when the physician spoke. His voice flowed easier than Barrett’s, but if she concentrated, she could hear a hint of a dialect more like the man her sister had run away with. The sound of a man who’d not lived all his life among the ton.
Then Barrett spoke. At first thought, his words were the most lacking. He spoke directly. No If it pleases you. No Quite the best I have tasted. And yet, if she concentrated on his words, she couldn’t hear anything but the polished tones of the ton.
They moved to the sitting room, then her father asked the physician if he could speak with him privately about a blemish on a knee. A blemish on the knee of his favourite horse. Both men left.
‘Please pardon me,’ her mother said. ‘I must fetch my stitchery.’ She put her hand on the chair arm to steady herself as she stood.
Annie looked at the servant pull and her mother waved the thought away. Her mother had ignored the pull, which was so unlike her as she usually had her chair placed within arm’s length of the pull, or sometimes waited until a servant checked on her before she asked for something.
‘Oh,’ Mrs Carson explained. ‘I am working on several projects and I want to examine just which threads I need.’
Barrett stood. ‘I’ve some papers to look over before I send them off in the morning.’
With the grace of a dancer, her mother moved between Barrett and the door. ‘No need for you to feel so abandoned, Mr Barrett. Please sit with Annie.’ Her hand fluttered near the grey curls. ‘She hardly ever has any visitors and it’s nice for her to be able to chat with someone her own age.’
Mr Barrett stopped dead in his tracks. ‘I don’t think I’m her age.’
‘Why, you most certainly are.’ Her mother’s voice dripped treacle.
He stared at her mother, but didn’t speak or move, and she left.
Annie had never purposely been left alone with any male before. She looked around, unfamiliar with her mother’s actions.
Mr Barrett watched Annie. He touched his cravat, not straightening it, but pulling it a bit loose, shaking his head. ‘If it makes her happy, then let her do her best.’
‘She’s...’ Annie stopped, then whispered, ‘Matchmaking.’
He almost smiled.
‘I don’t think matchmaking works with you,’ Annie said. ‘You’d rather practise fighting.’
‘I doubt anyone’s ever tried matchmaking with me before.’ He moved to the fireplace and touched the poker, nudging it, the clink of metal against stone filling the silence.
‘Have you scared them away? The matchmaking mamas?’ She had trouble finding words when he was so close.
‘I suppose. A well-placed growl here and there and they scamper like mice.’
‘Perhaps it is their inner voice shouting out to warn them.’
Humour sparked behind his eyes. ‘You could be right.’ He shook his head, then paused, his face losing the emotion. ‘Work before pleasure. Always. Without work there is no pleasure. And should someone wish to marry me to get to my ledger books, it is too late. I have them secured next to my heart.’
‘I don’t think everyone feels that way.’
‘I’m pleased they don’t.’ He studied the fireplace and she truly thought he examined the width and height of it. He tilted his head and put a finger at the point of juncture to the wall. Then he stepped back, studying, deepening the lines around his eyes.
She gauged him far closer to her parents’ age than her own twenty-two years.
‘Are you planning to have a new fireplace made?’ she asked.
He blinked, then turned, almost as if he’d forgotten about her presence. ‘Yes. One of my properties is in disrepair in Manchester and I have hired a man to correct some of the problems.’
‘Surely the man you hired will know what to do.’
He didn’t look at her when he spoke. ‘I know what I wish for better than he does.’
No wonder the matchmaking mamas kept their distance from him. And it would not matter to him if the years passed without his marriage. He had no one pushing him not to be a spinster.
She tried to remember if he’d been widowed, but had really heard so little of him. Nothing, really. The talk was often more concerning his father, whom her father was relieved not to be meeting.
‘How does your father fare?’ she asked.
No raptor’s eyes ever moved more rapidly.
‘I heard he is ill.’ Her words rushed together.
‘He is getting older.’ Barrett turned his attention fully on to her. ‘Finally.’ Another heartbeat. ‘But he has many years left in him. I wouldn’t be surprised if he outlives us all.’
She laced her fingers together. ‘Why are you here?’
‘Making the plans for your f
ather’s shops. Our business venture.’
‘He won’t sell.’ She’d hardly got the words out before he responded.
‘He already has.’
She gave a brief shake of her head, but his eyes told her she was wrong.
‘Does Mother know?’ Something cold brushed against her heart. Perhaps it was the look in his eyes.
‘I don’t even know if your father fully realises.’
She took in the words, not wanting to believe them. Her father’s grandfather had started the shops, at first selling a mixture of various household items and then moving to candles and lamps.
Barrett turned his eyes from her and stared at the fireplace again, but this time she knew he wasn’t studying it.
‘As your father has no sons, I suggest you convince your parents that it is in your best interest to seriously consider their matchmaking efforts for you.’
‘Perhaps they have... They appear to be.’
‘I think I am—’ whimsy danced behind his eyes ‘—considered a special case.’
She breathed in deeply, taking strength from the air. ‘There is more to a marriage than—children.’
He dusted a bit of soot from his fingers and, though his head was down, she saw the quirk of his lips. When he looked up, they were in a straight line. ‘Do not believe everything you hear.’
Heat burned in her cheeks, but she didn’t drop her eyes.
‘Trust me,’ he said.
‘Can I?’
‘That is a good question. And when you think to ask it, you really shouldn’t. Because your mind is telling you no. What you’re asking for is reassurance of trustworthiness. A lie upon a lie.’
She waited.
‘People can’t be trusted. It is why we are humans and not angels.’
‘But you tried to teach me to defend myself.’
‘Precisely.’
He walked to her, his boots making no sound on the rug, and took her wrist, ever so lightly. The touch heated and locked her in place. Or perhaps it was the depth in his eyes.
‘You need to realise, to think, to know, that forests are not full of flowers. The flowers only bloom for a short time and fade away. There are predators and prey. Hawks and little mice. You must make your own path in the world, through the brambles and around hedges. And put your own canopy over your head. Do you have any feeling for how dangerous it is for a woman to be alone in the world?’ he asked. ‘It is like being a hare in the forest. If you stumble down the wrong path, a fox can be waiting for its dinner and, when the dinner is right in front of him, he can hardly turn aside.’
‘There are plenty of good people in the world.’
‘Yes, and if you pass by fifty good people and only one person who wishes you evil, that is all it takes.’
‘Why does it matter to you so much?’ Annie asked.
‘It is your innocence.’
She could not move. Even though he stood in front of her, he surrounded her—perhaps with the scent of leather or the lingering waft of soap that his shirt put into the air after brushing his skin.
‘Market your beauty. Price it high—marriage to someone you halfway like—forget about the love rubbish. And get your father to consult my solicitor for help in the marriage contract. Consider it a gift from me.’
He looked at her wrist, held in his clasp. Then pulled it to his lips, kissed it, then his lips trailed to kiss her palm, sending pleasant shivers throughout her body. He pulled back and stared for a moment at the skin he’d kissed, then with his free hand, he clasped her fingers closed.
‘Sell high and sell your beauty, not your heart, or your mind. Always be in control of your thoughts, or someone will control them for you.’
Her fingers were still in a clasp. He took her wrist and held it up. ‘Open your hand.’
She uncurled her fingers.
‘What do you see?’ His eyes locked on hers, but she looked into her palm where his lips had touched.
‘Nothing,’ she answered.
‘Precisely.’
He dropped her wrist and stepped away.
‘Once you and your father have decided on a prospective suitor, send a note to my man of affairs. Within a few days he will be back to you with the man’s particulars.’
He paused at the doorway, his boots—reflecting the lamplight—the most comprehensible part she could see. ‘I need to take my leave. I’ve got documents I must have ready by morning. Please give your mother my regrets.’
He turned on his heel to leave and the shadows swirled as if he wore a cape. His footsteps faded.
She looked at her palm. Empty. She put her hand over her wrist. His touch remained, but when she looked into the doorway, she didn’t think any part of her remained in his thoughts. He’d handed her over to his man of affairs and she supposed if she happened to see Barrett again at some social function, he would remember her enough to call her by name and give her the most polite of greetings before returning to his commerce.
Shortly after Barrett’s departure, Annie’s mother walked into the room, her smile fading when she recognised that Annie was alone.
‘Our guest?’ Her mother’s brow rose.
‘He has taken his leave and returned to his house,’ Annie explained. She kept her eyes on her mother. Her cheeks puffed in and she looked at Annie, shaking her head, her brows up a bit.
The physician and her father followed close behind and both stepped in and looked around the room.
She’d expected her father’s look of disappointment, but not Gavin’s.
The physician blew a burst of air from his lips, surprising her. Apparently he’d wanted Barrett to stay longer, too. But she wasn’t sure if Gavin had merely forgotten to tell Barrett something.
‘I suppose I must be going along, too,’ the physician said, his eyes accusing her before he gave a weak smile and took his leave. ‘Blast,’ he grumbled after he stepped from the room.
So, he’d a bit of the matchmaker in him as well. And she had been examined by the potential suitor and hadn’t been chosen.
Her mother stepped to her. ‘Did—did you anger him?’
‘We got on quite well.’ In a manner of speaking.
Her mother smiled. ‘I hoped.’ She nodded, pleased. ‘And do you think he is going to come back?’
She still clasped her palm, but then opened her fingers, letting go. He had kissed her goodbye.
‘I could not say for certain.’
Her mother’s eyes darted to the floor, but not before Annie could see the disappointment.
‘Well.’ Her mother beamed, gathering herself. ‘I am certain he will return.’
Annie didn’t answer. It would do no good.
‘I only want the best for you. Barrett is interested in you. And his house is close enough that you could visit us often. What do you think of him?’ Her father examined her face.
Her mother leaned forward, eyes bright. ‘He’s a bit rough, Annie. But he dresses well and has a fortune and a title. And it is so nice to have pretty things.’
‘He is the only man I have been near other than servants or the physician since my sisters left and I’ve hardly talked to any male in my whole life,’ Annie said.
Her father tapped his waistcoat pocket where he kept his pocket watch. ‘I’ll be inviting Barrett back and I hope you think very carefully about the opportunity,’ her father said. ‘The man was standing very close to you when I walked in on the two of you—talking.’
‘He said if there are marriage contracts with someone else—with someone else—Father can use his solicitor.’ Annie stared at her father, trying to will the words into his mind, but she could almost see them skittering past his ears.
‘He is thinking of marriage contracts?’ Her father’s gaze had the same look as if an apricot tart were placed in front of him.
‘You don’t understand how a man’s mind works. If he mentioned marriage contracts already, he is thinking of proposing. You’ll convince him to propose.’ Her father clasped his fingers and popped his knuckles. ‘Would be nice to have a son-in-law who has a lot of properties.’ His gaze softened. ‘I’m fine with no grandchildren, saves the time of worrying what they might wish to call me, and Mr Carson sounds too formal.’
‘Our Annie. Married to a future viscount. Soothes the blow of Honour leaving and Laura’s pitiful marriage.’
‘It makes no difference, really,’ her father said. ‘You have two suitors now and both have good standing. You mother and I will be happy with whomever you choose.’ His chest puffed.
‘Just pick one and flutter around him a bit. You will be married before the year is out, and to a man with a title, or someone related to a peer.’ Her mother patted the hint of grey hair at her temple and walked away, the sound of her humming drowning her footsteps.
Annie kept herself still. She would not be forced into a marriage. Barrett wasn’t interested anyway. Lord Richard had told her she was the prettiest merchant’s daughter he’d ever seen and she had told him she hadn’t thought her father that pretty. She’d then used the ploy of having something in her eye, and left.
Not that it mattered either way. Annie had a scarf to cover her hair, a shawl and a rough-sewn dress ready and waiting in her room. The old woman would take her to see Honour and she would be with her sister in shortly over a week. Lord Richard could find another pretty merchant’s daughter and marry her.
Her parents would be crushed. But they’d get over it.
At the few soirées she’d been to with her family, her mother and father had refused to give any man introductions to her or her sisters unless he had the proper lineage. Her sisters had rebelled with fervour. Annie had felt like a different kind of servant, cleaning up behind the shouts, arguments and anger that seeped to all corners of the house.
