To Win a Wallflower

by Liz Tyner

  Barrett left, their voices echoing in his head, while he still kept an ear out for the sound of breaking glass. Finally, he heard it—the second he stepped into his own house and up to his father’s doorway.

  * * *

  Annie watched her father and mother eating silently and slowly. Honour and Laura’s empty chairs sat across from her.

  At least her parents had stopped sniffling. And just as she expected, her mother was planning for Annie to sleep on the sofa in her sitting room.

  She waited until her mother had finished eating. Annie put her fork on the side of her plate, arranging it exactly as she wanted, then she spoke. ‘Mother, perhaps I made a mistake.’

  Her mother turned to the footman at the sidebar and signalled him to leave. The door closed behind him.

  ‘Perhaps more than one,’ her mother said.

  Annie braced herself and said the words she’d never expected to hear from her own lips. ‘Mother, I spent the night in an inn pretending to be a married woman. A pretence—only—of marriage so no questions would be asked.’

  ‘You’ll be staying at your mother’s elbow the rest of your life.’ Her father’s voice cracked with emotion. He pointed a finger to the ceiling. ‘We’ve tried to be lenient and you see where it has got us. You will not run away again. You will be with either your mother or me, or you will marry Lord Richard or someone of his ilk.’

  ‘A pretence? No actions?’ Her mother waved her hand in front of her face. ‘Although any mother would be daft to believe such nonsense in a situation like that—except the physician did say...’

  Annie drew herself tall. ‘Mr Barrett has kissed my hand.’

  Her father rotated towards her, his body remaining in a straight line, but his face contorting.

  ‘He has kissed my hand several times, and my wrist,’ she added.

  Her mother looked at her father and rapped her fork on the plate, catching his attention before he spoke. ‘It is not wise to believe a child when she says nothing happened, but then again, this is Mr Barrett and you know what the physician...well, he said what he said when he suggested to send Barrett for Annie.’ She cleared her voice.

  ‘But—’ Carson sputtered.

  ‘Dearest Husband,’ her mother interrupted, looking down the table, ‘you know what the physician said to you privately about the unlikely event of Mr Barrett having an heir. That snails just couldn’t fly and, barring a miracle cure—which he had searched for these past five years—Mr Barrett would never fly. Never. He wanted you to know in case you worried about Annie should Mr Barrett find her and the two of them be alone. And he wanted to be sure you knew that there could never be a little viscount.’

  ‘It was rather lovely when he kissed my hand,’ Annie added.

  ‘Your hand?’ her father said.

  ‘A special moment,’ and she hated sharing it, but she wanted her parents to know that he had treated her admirably and she was no longer the innocent they believed, but neither was she not an innocent. ‘He seemed to be telling me that it would never lead to anything else.’

  ‘The plain and simple truth of it. Mr Barrett is the safest man in London for Annie to be with.’ Her mother wadded her napkin and threw it on to the plate. ‘And no five or six-month healthy babes to be born.’

  ‘I cannot believe you pretended to be married.’ Her father shook his head at Annie. ‘That is abominable.’

  ‘Again,’ her mother reminded. ‘Uneventful... Affliction... No surprise grandchildren.’ She picked up the discarded napkin, straightened and folded it. ‘A man who will inherit a sizeable estate kissed your daughter’s hand. Perhaps his deepest expression of affection.’

  ‘Father, no one knows. I learned my lesson and Mr Barrett said he has started plans to get Honour to return.’

  ‘It is not that simple, bringing your sister home,’ her mother said, arranging the napkin again with tactical precision. ‘We will have to pretend it never happened. We cannot stand for the disgrace. Your father has worked so hard to keep the family name upheld. If it were only her...well, then we could work something out. But there is a child. My grandchild. A niece or nephew for you. We don’t want it branded with a bad name for the whole of its life. I can adopt it later. I have told everyone that Honour is visiting my sister.’

  ‘Your sister passed away.’

  ‘I left that part out.’ She paused.

  ‘Barrett said he can bring Honour home now and I am sure that we will somehow fix it so there is no disgrace for the child.’

  Her mother sighed. ‘I have already written to Honour and explained that we will work to get her and the babe home with no one the wiser as to who its mother is. And when I recall that my sister has passed on, I’ll also mention her grandchild who needs a home. So far, Honour has refused to consider all the options your father and I presented. She just wanted to chase off after that man. It doesn’t matter to me. She can have a husband on two feet—or we can have a nice stone erected with the proper dates and a suitable name. That way there’s a record. I know of a good stonemason who will not ask any questions.’

  ‘Three daughters,’ her father held up the correct number of fingers and touched each one. ‘Three. And all of them—’

  His wife looked at him. ‘They did not get that from my side of the family.’

  She stared across the table at her husband. ‘Annie will be marrying Mr Barrett.’

  ‘I think he has to agree to that,’ Annie said.

  ‘The planning is in the details,’ her mother said.

  ‘He is an heir,’ Annie reminded them. ‘His family has been in society longer than ours and has a higher place. We are only cousins of cousins of an earl. Barrett is not someone who can be forced into anything. And I don’t think I will get a lot of empathy if he decides to bring up the little detail of my running off in the night and his bringing me home.’

  ‘You didn’t run away.’ Her mother glared at her. ‘You were here the whole time, dearest. We were stitching. The whole of the ton knows your father and I never let you out of our sight. You were here. All night. That is how to remember it.’

  ‘The physician knows I was gone,’ Annie said, ‘and perhaps a servant or two.’

  ‘Nonsense. The servants know to keep quiet. The physician knows Mr Barrett is a snail and snails can’t fly. Therefore, he also knows that you were safely asleep in bed.’ One brow cocked up and one brow remained in place. ‘Correct? Safely in bed?’ Then she looked away and muttered, ‘We just cannot mention whose bed.’

  Annie looked at one parent and then the other. She nodded. ‘Mr Barrett took care not to touch me and he snored.’

  Her father put his head down. ‘The poor, poor man.’

  ‘Perhaps I am ready not to be a wallflower any more,’ Annie said. ‘Perhaps I need to open my eyes to the world around me.’

  ‘Lord Richard?’ her father asked, hope in his eyes.

  ‘I’m not ruling out dancing with him.’ She looked at her mother’s napkin. ‘I would not rule out a harmless flirtation either.’

  * * *

  Barrett’s concentration hadn’t returned and neither had his ability to sleep through the night. The only night he’d slept well since seeing Annie’s wrist had been the night he’d slept beside her. He had to get her out of his mind once and for all.

  With her back at home, she’d be in her own little cocoon, safe from all the predators who might prey on fragile innocents.

  Carson had sent a note, thanking Barrett profusely for all the assistance he’d given on matters of late. Hoping again for Barrett’s invaluable advice. Noting how much his presence brightened the spirits of the entire family. Requesting a visit from Barrett, and mentioning that, if it were inconvenient for Barrett to travel, Carson would stop by when he and his family were out on calls.

  Another matchmaking papa. Barrett put his elbows on his desk, fi
ngers steepled together, and rested his forehead on his hands.

  Every time he shut his eyes, he saw Annie. And every time he listened, he heard his father’s voice, either real—from the Viscount’s room shouting out some nonsense to Summers—or imagined, slinging some profanity into the air.

  Barrett didn’t want Carson in his father’s lair.

  After hours of his father’s ire seeping through the walls and Summers walking into Barrett’s room to show him the remains of a meal dripping from his clothing, Barrett stood. He’d get the Carson family out of his mind once and for all. He’d put a rift so deep between them that Annie would hate him.

  Hate, that was a real emotion, and even that could weaken a man. Emotions were weapons and humans were victims.

  He had to get Annie out of his thoughts instead of letting her linger inside him, like a scent from a springtime garden that rested in the air, filling the senses with delicate purity and an amazement that, after the desolation of winter, the earth could replenish itself.

  Annie reminded him of the earliest wildflowers, so delicate a single touch on their petals could mar them. He only knew how to deal with dandelions. A wisp of air and they went in all directions, spreading the seeds and returning with vigour.

  He sprinted downstairs and sent for his horse, waiting, trying not to listen to the commotion in the rooms above him.

  Telling Annie goodbye would be his own solution as well, he thought, as he checked to make sure the cinch was tight on his horse’s saddle. Destroying their friendship would save him from the temptation of returning to her over and over, until she decided she was little more than another Madeline Trotter in his life. Another beauty on his arm. Another woman to fulfil his checklist as he went through the motions required to appease her, while his life continued on alone. Another stolen book with hand-painted illustrations to put on the shelf and to pull down to show others how well-ordered a viscount’s life was.

  With a foot in the stirrup, he jumped into the saddle.

  It was tempting—to lead her along a false rose path, propose and marry. But should he do that, a Madeline would work so much better. She couldn’t be crushed by the world that sat inside the walls of Barrett’s home. Annie had an innocent’s view of love. The flower-petal arrangement, not the mire of walking through the stables. The superficial view of her parents—who shed a few tears and expected roses to form from the moisture and everyone to dance arm in arm down the lane with birds tweeting about and no foxes with empty stomachs patiently watching and waiting.

  He would tell her. Show her. That his life wasn’t right for her. She needed one of the bespectacled men who had plush carriage seats, umbrellas close by, and an assortment of collapsible fans to match their attire.

  His horse splashed through the puddles in the road and Barrett wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand.

  If he could show her one second inside his father’s mind, she would run to the attic and lock herself in her room.

  He would end all thoughts she might have in his direction and he would end his thoughts of her, too. They both needed to be on different paths and he’d make sure they were.

  Chapter Thirteen

  In Carson’s study, the older man’s gaze softened. ‘I have not impressed upon you how much we appreciated you bringing Annie home to us safe and unharmed. I cannot repay you enough. You’re the only man I trust near her.’ Carson lit his cheroot after Barrett refused one. ‘Not all men are like you.’ He stumbled over his words. ‘Not all men have an—’

  Barrett raised a brow.

  Carson coughed. ‘Upstanding. Good decent men.’

  Obviously Annie’s father was every bit as oblivious to the world as his daughter was. The man had closed himself away as well not to have heard of the women who had flitted through Barrett’s life. Not to have suspected that Barrett knew more about Carson’s business than a casual observer would.

  But the man could see the virtue in Annie. He could see how easily a few soft words and a smile could lead her into danger.

  ‘Of course, you’re welcome here any time.’ He took a puff of the tobacco. ‘If you can convince Annie how much we love her and how important it is for her to be protected, I would be very grateful.’ Carson’s eyes registered the thought of Barrett’s interest in Annie. A not well-hidden hope appeared in his eyes.

  ‘I’ll think about what you’re saying,’ Barrett said. ‘In fact, I would like to take Annie on a stroll to Lincoln’s Inn Field today. It’s a perfect day for a walk.’ It was, if you didn’t count the clouds overhead and the extra coolness in the air.

  Carson jumped to his feet and had the bell pull in his hand before Barrett finished with the sentence. ‘You can take our maid, Myrtle, as a chaperon,’ he said. ‘She can follow along behind. Just don’t lose her.’ He paused, his hand on the bell. ‘Really, don’t lose her. She gets distracted easily.’

  Barrett waited and Annie walked into the room, causing his insides to jolt. Comparing her to anyone else had been a mistake. Much like comparing an artist’s rough sketch to something created by divine inspiration. Annie was the creation made to dissolve resolves and drop mortals to their knees.

  But it didn’t matter. The art would stay safely locked away from Barrett’s world. He would remember her and, in time, he would sleep again.

  * * *

  Lincoln’s Inn Field bustled even with the feel of moisture in the air. A group of three ladies walked along, two carrying umbrellas high, the third one hand in hand with a small child.

  The iron rails of the fence surrounding the square absorbed the sunlight, making them appear warm instead of forbidding.

  A man driving a curricle along kept his distance, not disturbing the moments of quaintness.

  ‘The world seems so alive,’ she said. ‘It’s been years since I’ve been here.’

  ‘I’ve been through a few times, but never paused long.’ He walked with his hands behind his back, left hand clasped over his other wrist—because if he did not, he feared he would ask that she take his arm.

  To be that close to her would cause him to pull her closer and closer and walk with his head bent to hers and that would be near to announcing a betrothal in such a public place.

  Myrtle trotted along behind, humming, speaking to the others nearby and, without meaning to, drawing attention away from Barrett and Annie.

  A man with about two sprouts of hair sticking up on each side, ragged, wearing an eyepatch, sat on the corner next to a dog that had an eyepatch as well. When he saw Barrett glance at the dog, the man pulled out a finger and pretended to shoot at the dog. The dog rolled over on its back. ‘Go for the sympathy now, Rouser.’ The little dog whined on an outward breath and then whined again.

  ‘You’re a good one,’ the beggar said. ‘Now get well and sing us a song about how happy you are.’ The little dog hopped up and barked.

  Barrett reached in his pocket and took out a few coins and tossed them into the cup.

  ‘Well, would you look at that, Rouser?’ The man rattled the cup. ‘Look. Coins.’

  Rouser jumped over to the man and the man lifted the dog’s eyepatch. Then the beggar held up the patch and light shown through it. The beggar smiled at Barrett. ‘The hard part was getting her used to the patch, but now she expects an audience when she wears it.’

  ‘And is yours real?’ Barrett asked.

  ‘All too real, but I don’t mind. The day is grand. The people who walk along are always in a pleasant mood. I’ve a good life and try to see as much with my one eye as other people see with two.’

  Annie walked forward, reaching out her gloved hand as she knelt to pat the dog. ‘She seems a good companion.’

  ‘She’s my joy,’ the old man said, smiling. ‘I think she’d miss the people if I tried to keep her away.’

  Annie straightened, told the man goodbye and walked along
with Barrett. ‘I can hardly believe the freedom. Everything seems so bright and alive.’

  He looked overhead and saw absolutely nothing of interest, but the air did feel fresh on the dreary day. ‘Lots of clouds.’

  She studied his face until he touched her elbow and moved her onwards.

  ‘I have a feeling my father would be pleased if you were to have dinner with us tonight,’ she said.

  ‘I can’t.’

  The smile on her face faltered.

  He didn’t want to let that smile fade. He thought back to how many smiles he’d seen in his life. Not a lot.

  Another turn and she would be at home. ‘Just one more thing,’ he said, stopping her again. He realised he’d done that so many times on their walk. A stop for a few seconds here. A stop for a moment to examine a bit of iron, or a second to look at this or that, or the man’s dog. Another check to see that the maid was following. Anything to keep her with him longer.

  She paused, waiting.

  ‘Never mind,’ he said, watching her eyes gaze at him. ‘Never mind.’ He touched a finger to her cheek, feeling the softness deep in his chest. A mistake. A mistake he’d never forget, but one more added to the ledger would not matter.

  He’d been about to tell her that he couldn’t court her. That he could give her a bit of freedom that day, but he could never bring her into his father’s house. The risk would be too great. And for him to leave his father alone, that was a risk, too. If his father ever found out that Barrett cared for her, her life would be in danger. But he would not let her into his world of shadows, darkness and greed.

  He needed to leave, but he couldn’t force himself. Just as he was giving her a taste of freedom, he was giving himself a taste of a world that wasn’t his.

  He walked back to her parents’ house with her, a puppy on the string, following the smile in Annie’s eyes and unable to leave. He pulled her closer, taking both her hands in his, almost losing her fingers in his grasp, but feeling them with his being.