by Liz Tyner
‘He must have done it when he fell,’ Barrett said. He glanced at Annie. ‘How hard did you hit him?’
‘I just barely—I don’t know.’ She touched her elbow. ‘It does feel a bit tender.’ She reached up to her shoulder. ‘And it’s aching. I’ve practised with the maid. Trying to show her what I’ve learned. I couldn’t think. I just reacted. I didn’t mean to hurt him.’
Barrett snaked an arm around her waist and held her close. ‘You fought back.’
‘And I’m safe. Alive,’ she said, hugging Barrett.
‘Sometimes that’s all that matters. Surviving. We do what we can to survive.’ Barrett rocked her in his arms.
‘You meant to kill me, you witch.’ The old man came to life and shook a fist in the air. ‘You’re taking my son. My fortune. The both of you. You pretend to care, but it’s all a lie.’
Annie stared at the older man. Once her eyes were on him, he wailed. He groaned with so much effort it shook his hip and made the pain worse, but he didn’t stop.
* * *
The strength that had naturally been in Barrett’s body his whole life left him. He could feel the power draining from his body.
He’d brought Annie into a world and taught her to fight. A woman raised to believe in goodness and beauty, and now he’d taken that from her. As clearly as a child could be taught the alphabet, he’d taught her that the world was a cruel and evil place. And he couldn’t take away what he’d done.
He’d thought it for the best, but before, Annie could believe in rainbows and halos and parents who always loved their children and now he’d introduced Annie into a world of madness around her. But she’d survived. She’d shown her true strength. The one he’d been too blinded to realise that she’d had all along.
His father writhed in pain. Gavin bent over him, completely dispassionate and humming. Annie stared at them, taking in the wailing and the humming. His family.
Carson stepped into the room. ‘Barrett, the magistrate is at the door looking for you. He’s distraught. He said he was ambushed from behind.’
The fates his father relished had conspired again.
‘Annie, I can’t risk him being near you.’ Barrett stepped away, moving into a cloak of his aloneness.
The wailing stopped.
‘I dare say it’s not as much risk as you think,’ Gavin said. ‘His hip will likely not mend properly.’ He shook his head. ‘He’s older than we realised. Frail.’
Annie studied her fist. ‘I can’t believe it.’ She looked at Barrett. ‘It worked just like you said it would.’ She looked at the Viscount. ‘I didn’t even know what was going on when he stepped behind me.’
‘I was just going to befriend her.’ His father stared at Barrett. ‘And she tried to kill me. The witch tried to kill me...’
Annie’s mouth opened, but it took a moment for her to speak. ‘I wasn’t. You came in to my room. You didn’t knock.’
‘You attacked me,’ he screamed out. ‘You attacked me.’
‘Nonsense,’ Barrett answered. ‘You always blame everyone else but yourself. Even when you know it isn’t true.’
‘We’ll get him back to his house,’ Gavin said as he and Carson stood on each side of the Viscount, ‘and as soon as we get him to bed, we’ll be back for the wedding.’
‘No,’ Barrett raised a hand. ‘We’re marrying first. If you wish to attend, then Father can wait. He’s now invited to the wedding.’
* * *
Annie stood by the fireplace of her father’s home. Barrett’s father quietened and he lay on the main sitting-room sofa, apparently interested in the marriage and curious about her family.
Her mother stood at the end of it and her father turned away, sniffling.
‘So the special licence is to be utilised now?’ the cleric asked, standing. ‘In that case, I suppose we should get on with the formalities. This couple seems to be well suited to each other.’
He smiled at Annie and Barrett. ‘Should we continue? With the actual marriage?’
‘I would love to,’ Barrett said.
Her father sniffled again. ‘It is a shame Barrett and Annie will not be having children, unless it is a miracle,’ her father said. ‘Much like the epidemeosis miracle cure I am just finding out about.’
Barrett smiled. ‘Miracles happen every day.’
Barrett took Annie’s left hand, pleased to feel not just love inside himself, but happiness and contentment. With Annie at his side, he had more strength than he’d ever expected and the wonderful feeling that he’d never need all of it.
The bitterness he’d felt at the past, some he didn’t even know he’d had, had faded, because it had worked to create this moment. Without the struggles, he might not have become a man Annie could love and he might not have her by his side.
‘Let’s get on with the formalities, Annie. I could never again find a woman with such a strong right arm and who knows how to bargain.’
‘That’s true,’ Annie agreed. ‘I even talked Father into giving us the perfect wedding present.’
Barrett examined her face, trying to imagine what she wanted for a gift.
She smiled. ‘Father is keeping the sofa.’
Epilogue
Annie watched from the upper window of the sitting room as the servant ran from the house to the coach in the rain. He lifted the umbrella high, shielding the drops, and opened the door as her mother stepped out.
After taking her mother inside, he returned for her father.
The scent of rosewater wafted in the air. Barrett had slipped behind her.
She bent her knee, dropped her hip, stiffened her elbow in an L shape and clasped her right arm. But instead of throwing the elbow into his midsection, she threw herself into his arms. She tumbled against his chest and he captured her.
‘You could just say good morning.’ His voice rumbled as he rested his face against her head. Her heart tightened and a flush of love warmed her from the inside out.
‘Not until you kiss me.’
He clasped her more tightly, lifted her and swung her around, rotating a full turn, taking her feet off the ground with his movement, her skirts fluttering at her slippers. As he let her feet drop to the floor and before she fully caught her balance, he quickly kissed the top of her head several times. ‘Satisfied?’
Letting out a deep sigh, she leaned against him. ‘For this morning.’
She heard footsteps on the stair and the Barrett she knew slipped back inside himself. He stepped away from her.
He gave a small bow to her parents as they rushed into the doorway. ‘Mrs Carson. Carson.’
Her mother held a letter in her gloved hand, the felted tassels from her coat sleeve almost obscuring the missive.
‘Oh, Annie.’ She looked around the house, her brows furrowed. ‘I like what you’ve done with the house. It looks so...medieval.’
‘I suspect the chainmail will be finding a home elsewhere in the house,’ Barrett said. ‘Annie’s become friends with an archaeologist and he presented it to her as a token of his appreciation for her funding his next adventure.’
‘I think he had it altered especially for me. Or pieced together. I’m not sure exactly how it was constructed.’
Her mother walked over and jabbed her index finger against the metal. ‘Interesting.’
‘Yes.’ Barrett locked his hands behind his back and looked at the floor. ‘And I am not opposed to it. I just think perhaps we have a few too many artillery pieces.’
‘None are functional.’ Annie pointed to the spears. ‘Papier mâché.’
Her mother gazed around the room. ‘I suppose a future viscountess will be allowed some leeway and archaeology is a bit of a fashion at the moment.’ She looked at a glass vase. ‘What’s that?’
‘Sand. From Egypt.’
Her mother nodded while
her father absently shook his head and breathed out through his nose.
‘That is fascinating, but not as happy as my news.’ Her mother waved the letter high, the fringe on her coat sleeve falling away. ‘Laura will be here in a few months. She is returning to London.’
Her father sniffled, keeping his head low. ‘All my daughters will be together again. I can hardly believe it.’ When he raised his face and looked at Barrett, tears glistened in his eyes. ‘Thank you for seeing that Honour is back as well. You brought my whole family together.’
‘It’s nothing,’ Barrett said. ‘Much easier than sitting with my father every few days. I appreciate that, Carson. He is calmer after your visits.’
‘I rather like the Viscount.’ Carson regained his composure. ‘Sad his mind has waned so. You would not believe the tales he fabricates. He claims to have switched you at birth with another baby.’ Carson rolled his eyes. ‘Said he had another son the same age as you. Said your grandmother took one look at the new baby and made him change them back. Said you wet on him on the way home.’
‘Interesting,’ Barrett said.
‘He’s told me that story fifteen times if he’s told me it once.’ Carson shrugged, leaning towards Barrett and lowering his voice. ‘Always laughs. Said he knew from that moment on that you’d grow up to be a son he could be proud of.’
‘You do well with him,’ Barrett said.
‘He thinks you’re married to a sorceress, though,’ Carson whispered. ‘I remind him you’re married to our Annie, but he claims you married an evil witch with blazing eyes. He’s afraid to be alone.’
‘But he’s doing well,’ Annie said.
‘Yes,’ her father agreed. ‘And the man knows more about financial affairs than anyone I’ve ever listened to.’ He looked at Barrett. ‘He insists I take notes and I’ve now filled up my first notebook. And a second one with all the tall tales. He wants them written down for a grandchild. As if I would ever show such a book to a grandchild of mine.’ He touched the side of his head. ‘Poor man. He’s so delusional.’
‘It’s wonderful that you’re making him contented,’ Annie said.
She viewed her mother. ‘The maid will be bringing us...tea...in a moment. I so like your blend. And I have teacups for each day of the week, just like you do.’
Her mother raised her chin. ‘I’m so happy you are keeping the family tradition.’
Then Annie went to the tiny gong and picked up the small mallet and hit it. The ring reverberated, summoning the maid.
Barrett stared at the floor.
Her father squinted and looked at Barrett. ‘That’s not a family tradition. She’s not the girl I raised.’
Barrett didn’t lift his eyes, but Annie saw the grin. ‘But it’s the woman I married.’
In a few moments Myrtle walked into the room.
‘Tea, please,’ Annie said.
Myrtle nodded, whispering, ‘And I’ve hid the coffee so your family will not know you’re drinking the swill.’
‘Thank you.’
Myrtle bowed. ‘Yes, Miss Annie.’
In a few moments, she returned with the tea and the hour passed quickly with Barrett relaxing back in his chair and adding little to the chatter but a smile here and there.
‘Well, we must be going,’ her mother said, after finishing the tea and moving to the doorway. ‘We only stopped to tell you the news about Laura. I wanted to get a toy for Honour’s little one. I’ve heard they have cute little silver rattles and I thought it would make a lovely keepsake for Honour.’ She looked around the room again. ‘Lovely, dearest. Definitely suitable for a future viscountess.’
Then she scurried out, Carson behind her.
After they left, Annie walked to Barrett, slipping her arm through his. ‘I thought you liked the chainmail.’
‘I do. But I don’t think it’s appropriate for the sitting room.’ He touched his upper lip, tapping. ‘I’ve never seen how it fits on you, either. I have some ideas about that.’ He walked over to examine the garment, the links slipping through his fingertips.
‘There’s a little warning voice in my head right now,’ Annie said. ‘It’s telling me that your thoughts are not exactly innocent.’
He smiled and stepped to put an arm around Annie’s waist. ‘As I said, you should always listen to your inner voice.’
* * *
If you enjoyed this story
check out these other great reads
by Liz Tyner
The Runaway Governess
The Wallflower Duchess
Redeeming the Roguish Rake
Saying I Do to the Scoundrel
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A Duke in Need of a Wife
by Annie Burrows
Chapter One
July 1814
It all happened so fast.
One moment, everyone was oohing and aahing at the cascade of red and gold sparks bursting into the night sky. The next, they were screaming and running as a sheet of flame erupted with a sound that put Sofia in mind of a fusillade of cannon.
Worse still, the bigger people were shoving the smaller, slower-moving ones out of their way. In the panic, a tall man elbowed Sofia right in her eye as he spun away from the exploding fireworks. A split second later someone else deliberately shoved her aside. What with the blow to the face, the shove and the surge of running people, Sofia felt herself beginning to lose her footing.
Already scared, Sofia now faced the terrifying prospect of being trampled underfoot. Fortunately, the man who’d shoved her out of his way had shoved her in the direction of a clump of sturdy-looking bushes. All Sofia had to do was alter her topple into a deliberate dive and she ended up underneath them, rather than under the pounding feet of the fleeing mob.
Her heart was pounding, her limbs were shaking, but she was safe—if a bit bruised and grubby. Still, for once she’d have a jolly good excuse for returning to her aunt and uncle covered in leaves and mud. For once, she could lay the blame squarely at the feet of the beast who’d pushed her out of his way, rather than having to confess that she’d had to dig her dog out of a rabbit burrow, or rescue her from a boggy patch of meadow, or one of the many other mishaps which so regularly seemed to befall her when exploring Uncle Ned’s estates.
It took a remarkably short time for the massive crowd which had gathered to watch the fireworks display to d
isperse.
Still unsure that it would be safe to emerge from her cover, Sofia gingerly raised herself on one elbow and peered out from under the lower branches to see what was going on.
Uncle Ned had bought the most expensive tickets to this event which Burslem Bay’s town council had put on to celebrate the peace with France. It had not only included the price of supper, but also the right to stand halfway up the castle mound, ensuring the best view of the fireworks. It meant that even from beneath the bushes, Sofia could still clearly see that the scaffolding on which the fireworks display had been mounted was now well ablaze.
She could also hear someone screaming. She raised herself a bit further and saw, to her horror, right beneath the flaming scaffolding, in the area where the servants and shopkeepers had been standing, a woman with her skirts on fire.
A woman all on her own, desperately swatting at the flames, which were now licking up her sleeves. Sofia had seen something similar in her childhood, when a stray rocket had set a magazine, as well as the men nearest to it, ablaze, so she knew that the woman ought to lie on the ground and roll, not leap about the way she was doing. But this was England in peacetime, not a fortress on high alert. Which meant she could well be the only person here who knew what needed doing.
So Sofia wriggled out from under the shrubbery and began running back down the slope as fast as she could, desperately hoping she’d be strong enough to wrestle the panicked woman to the ground and extinguish the flames before it was too late. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed two men also running in the same direction—two of the waiters who’d served at supper, to judge from the white shirts they wore, with blue sashes wrapped round their waists. They reached the burning woman first. One of them pushed her to the ground. The other one, who was slightly behind him, and who’d clearly had the presence of mind to grab a champagne bucket on his way, upended the contents over the unfortunate woman, putting out most of the flames at once.
