by Jane Ashford
Anabel started violently and looked up, her eyes red and swollen. “Oh, Georgina. I didn’t know you were here.”
“I have been waiting to tell you—”
“You might have been out helping us search. But of course my children are not your responsibility.” At some level Anabel knew this was utterly unfair, but Norbury’s abandonment had cut her to the quick, and it seemed to her that no one cared for her or her plight. Christopher was gone, and the man she had agreed to marry was merely annoyed by her anguish. In her upset she turned on the nearest available object.
Georgina understood some of this. “I did not go because—”
“Oh, it doesn’t signify,” interrupted Anabel bitterly. “Why should you? My promised husband has gone off to change his coat. And my dearest friend has gone out of town without a word. Charles hardly knows the children, of course, and he means to return. But Christopher might have done something. How could he be so thoughtless?” This was even more unreasonable, she knew. Christopher could not have known that an emergency would arise. But Anabel was conscious only of a need for his stalwart presence; she was incapable of logical thought.
Georgina was outraged. Not only was the noble, unselfish Mr. Hanford being unjustly accused but Anabel actually dared to praise Sir Charles Norbury at his expense. It was more than unfair; it was intolerable. Georgina’s pity for her cousin dissolved in righteous anger. As Lady Goring returned with a tray she threw back her head and strode from the room.
“Oh dear,” sighed Anabel as her mother urged her to try to eat something. “I have offended Georgina. I didn’t mean to say such ridiculous things. I don’t know what is the matter with me.”
“Of course you do. You are terribly upset. Georgina understands that.” Anabel was Lady Goring’s chief concern just now. She had no doubt Georgina would recover. “Do take just a little of this soup. It will make you feel better.”
The evening passed without news. Some of the servants returned, having looked every place they could think of, and at nine one of Norbury’s footmen arrived with a note saying that he would call in the morning. Lady Goring read this with a curled lip and did not even tell Anabel. She had not asked for Sir Charles and was clearly not thinking about him. Georgina came in a bit later, looking repentant and wanting to speak to Anabel, but Lady Goring insisted she go to bed, refusing to listen to a word. Georgina actually told her the truth, in a rather disjointed sentence, but her aunt’s attention was so wholly taken up with her daughter that she did not really hear, merely replying, “Yes, dear, you can tell us all about it tomorrow. Now run along upstairs.”
Slowly and reluctantly Georgina went. She felt very uncertain, but she was not accustomed to forcing her opinions on other people, and Lady Goring stood in the place of a parent. She decided to wait in her bedchamber for a while and then try again to tell her story. Unfortunately she had no sooner lain down on her bed to wait than the emotional exhaustions of the day descended, and she fell deeply asleep.
Anabel and her mother remained in the drawing room, with no thought of retiring. Anabel’s feelings ran the gamut from guilt and apprehension to sudden, wild hope when a passing carriage seemed to slow before their door. Finally, at eleven, she leaped to her feet, crying, “They have gone home, of course! They dislike London and have often asked to go. I must start out at once.”
Lady Goring rose also, frowning. “Do you think so?” She did not really believe that the children would flee without a word.
“Yes, yes. That must be it. Will you order the carriage for me, Mama? I will just fetch my hat and cloak.”
“But, Anabel, this does not sound like William or Nicholas. And I do not think they would allow Susan to lead them.” Realizing that her daughter had not really heard her, she took her shoulders in a firm grip and met her wildly elated gaze. “Besides, Anabel, you cannot search for them in the darkness. We must wait for morning now.”
“No!” She struggled free. “I must do something!”
“I understand how you feel, but it is no good wearing yourself out tonight. You might easily pass them in the dark.”
Abruptly Anabel’s eagerness collapsed. “Oh, Mama, what am I going to do?” She dropped onto the sofa again and put her head in her hands. “It is all my fault. I should never have gone away.”
“Nonsense. If it comes to that, it is my fault. They were lost from my house. But we won’t waste time repining. First thing tomorrow, we shall begin an organized search. We can have the Bow Street Runners.”
Her daughter looked up. “We will find them, won’t we?”
“Of course! There is no question about that.”
Trying to smile, Anabel held out her hand. Lady Goring took it and squeezed it reassuringly, hoping that she was indeed right. “Why not go up to bed?” she urged finally. “Nothing can be done just now.”
“I couldn’t sleep. You go on.”
“No. I shall stay with you.”
They lapsed into silence again. Midnight passed, and the sounds from the street outside gradually subsided. The ticking of the mantel clock became loud. Anabel seemed to feel it inside her head.
At last both women began to droop. Such a high pitch of anxiety could not be sustained indefinitely. Lady Goring’s head gradually dropped onto the back of the armchair, and she dozed. Anabel, though she didn’t sleep, curled into the corner of the sofa in a kind of stupor. Thus, when they heard the sound of carriage wheels approaching the house in the small hours of the morning, they both started up convulsively, jarred by the sudden noise in the predawn silence.
“It is nothing,” said Anabel shakily, sinking back. “A carriage.” But she strained to listen.
“It is slowing.” Her mother went to the window. “I think…yes, it is stopping here, Anabel.” The other was already at the drawing-room door, then running for the stairs.
They had the front door open before the vehicle was completely stopped. Anabel found it difficult to breathe as it pulled up and the door swung open. But when first William, then Nicholas emerged, she rushed forward and swept them into her arms, shaking with joy and relief.
The boys were sleepy. They accepted their mother’s embraces in good part, but they also bore her backward toward the house and their beds. “Where have you been? Where did you go? Where is…” Anabel looked up at this moment and saw before her Christopher Hanford, cradling a drowsy Susan in his arms. She was struck speechless.
“Everyone come inside,” ordered Lady Goring. She herded the boys before her and put a hand in the small of Anabel’s back. They all went in and upstairs to the drawing room once more.
“I’m tired,” complained William, stretching and yawning.
Lady Goring looked from Anabel to Hanford. “I will take you up to bed,” she answered. “Here, Mr. Hanford, give me Susan.”
“I will take her if you like.”
“Nonsense. She is quite light. I can manage.” Urging the boys before her again, she went out.
Silence fell. Anabel stared at Christopher as if she had never seen him before, and he waited, uncertain. Then, as if impelled by some external force, she ran forward and threw herself into his arms, burying her face in his shoulder.
Hanford was startled for a moment. In all the years they had known each other, he and Anabel had never embraced. Moreover, he could not understand her violent reaction to their return. He had left a clear message of his intentions. But these concerns were soon lost in sensation. For the first time Christopher held the woman he had loved for so long. Against hope, she had come to him. Throwing questions to the wind, he tightened his arms around her and, when she looked up, bent to fasten his lips passionately on hers.
Anabel was beyond surprise. When she had seen Christopher holding Susan, it had felt as if a lightning bolt went through her brain, dazzling her senses and paralyzing thought. She knew only that something had happened to her; she could
not interpret it. Moving into Christopher’s arms had seemed natural, and when she rested her head on his shoulder, she suddenly felt as if everything were all right again, after an endless agony. She had raised her head to say something like this, only to be overtaken by his kiss.
This was equally astonishing. She had never thought of kissing Christopher, but now his touch seemed to set her on fire. She had never felt anything like it. Her hands moved of their own volition to caress his upper arms, his shoulders, and to tighten about his neck. She felt his lean strength along the length of her body and was acutely aware of every contact. She felt no languor, as she had with Norbury; every part of her seemed newly alive and singing with energy.
At last, reluctantly, Hanford drew back. He had felt Anabel’s response, and it had filled him with joy and redoubled ardor. But, inevitably, other concerns intruded. He could not wholly forget that she was promised to another man.
Anabel took two trembling breaths and moved away. She could not assimilate this change quickly after the day she had had. Her familiar world had turned upside down. “I…” She swallowed. “Where did you find them?”
“On the road home, as I suspected. They were indignant when they saw that Susan was with me.”
“With you?” Anabel thought that perhaps her brain was not working properly. His words made no sense to her.
“Yes.” He frowned. “Didn’t Georgina tell you?”
“Georgina?” She was completely lost.
“She promised to…never mind. Susan came to my sister’s house this afternoon…or yesterday it is now. She informed me that she was running away and I was to help her.” He smiled slightly. “Naturally I brought her back, but by the time we arrived the boys had already departed in search of their sister. They concluded that she was going home and took that road. I guessed and followed in my traveling carriage, coming up with them some hours later.” He shook his head. “They were very resourceful; they had convinced a carter to give them a ride. Susan insisted upon coming along when I would have left her here. But I told Georgina my plan.” He stepped forward and took her icy hands in his warm ones. “Didn’t she tell you?”
“No!” Anabel considered. “That is, she may have tried. I was very worried.”
“Poor Anabel.” He made as if to embrace her again, but she drew away.
“I… Thank you!”
He shrugged, dismissing her thanks, and waited. He would not force her into any declaration, but neither was he willing to help her avoid the issue. Her response to him had been unmistakable; she would have to say something.
For her part, Anabel did not know what to do. A great many things were coming clear to her, and others clamored for her attention. It was obvious that she had made a complete mull of things so far. She did not want to compound her mistakes. But when she looked into Christopher’s eyes, she could think of nothing but him. “I…I’m exhausted,” she said, gazing at the floor. “And I must see that the children are all right. Will you…will you come to call tomorrow, so that I may thank you properly?”
What did she mean by “properly”? he wondered. But he could only agree. She did look tired. “Of course.” He hesitated, hoping she would speak again, then turned and went slowly out. Anabel collapsed on the sofa and sat very still, listening to the front door open and shut and the sound of his carriage driving away.
Fourteen
She didn’t go up to the children. She remained where she was, her body motionless but her mind racing. Everything that had happened to her in the last three months had suddenly taken on a new significance. It was as if with one small shift in her outlook, all those events had changed, so that she had to review each one and alter her ideas about it. Christopher had been the center of her life for some time, she saw now; it was only when he had left to go abroad that she had felt restless at home. Her feelings for him had been growing deeper and stronger for years. Why she had not seen it before she did not know. Perhaps the easy gradualness of the process had disguised it. They had been so in harmony and so content with each other that she had never before had occasion to draw back and examine the situation. She had taken him wholly for granted, not pausing to think how fortunate she was to have him always near.
And when he had gone, she was hurt and lonely, she saw now. But she had hidden the knowledge from herself and come up to London, like a fool. She had been no better than a green schoolgirl, awed by new sights and swept into a mistaken engagement. Sir Charles had dazzled her, but he had never touched her heart as Christopher did. Anabel bowed her head on the sofa arm and sighed. How could she have been so stupid? She had thought Sir Charles exciting; he had appealed to her vanity and her pride. But Christopher’s kiss tonight had shown her the emptiness of that attraction. Christopher’s touch had set her afire with longing; Charles merely induced surrender.
Anabel rose and walked about the room, frowning. She did not even see her mother look in at the door, watch her face for a moment, and then retreat. She was trying to understand her failure and to sort out her feelings so that she could think what to do.
The night was almost over. Outside, the sky was lightening with the first pale hues of dawn, and muted sounds from below indicated that the servants were stirring. But Anabel was aware of nothing but her own inner turmoil. Though exhausted by the emotions of the past day, she did not think of sleep.
When the sun had appeared over the horizon and the scent of breakfast was rising from the kitchen, she was suddenly distracted by the sound of running footsteps on the stairs, and in the next moment Georgina hurtled into the drawing room, still wearing the gown of the night before and looking wild-eyed and crumpled. “Oh, Anabel,” she gasped. “I fell asleep. I meant to come back down in a few minutes and speak to you. I do beg your pardon. I was to tell you—”
“I know,” she replied. “Christopher told me when he brought back the children.”
“He did, then? I mean, of course I knew he would, but I wasn’t certain when they would arrive.”
Anabel merely nodded. She still felt far away.
“Mr. Hanford is wonderful!” exclaimed the girl. “He knew at once where they had gone, and I suppose he found them without the least trouble. How I wish I had been here when he came back.”
Anabel looked at her, and she flushed, then raised her chin. “You admire him very much, don’t you?” said Anabel.
“Yes.” Georgina sounded defiant.
“Why did you not tell me at once what he was doing?”
“I tried! But no one would listen. And when you began abusing him, I…”
She trailed off, feeling guiltily conscious that she had no real excuse.
“Abusing Christopher? I?”
“Well, you were saying that he didn’t care, and ranking him below Si—” She stopped herself before saying Norbury’s name.
Anabel didn’t recall her words, but she had no doubt Georgina was right. “Oh, Georgina—I was very worried. I didn’t mean what I said.”
“No.” Georgina hung her head. “I know. I…I beg your pardon, Anabel. I was very stupid.”
Her cousin sighed, gazing at the fireplace. “Not so much as I,” she murmured.
“What?”
“Never mind, Georgina. It doesn’t matter now. The children are safe, and all is well.” At least with them, she added to herself.
Georgina eyed her, sensing a difference. “Did you sleep at all?”
“No, I couldn’t.”
“You should go up now and rest this morning.”
Anabel shook her head; she was far too restless still. “The day is beginning. I can sleep tonight. Why don’t we go down and have some breakfast? I believe it is ready.” She suddenly realized that she was extremely hungry. “Did you have any dinner last night?”
“I… No.” Georgina seemed surprised.
“Well, then.” With an attempt at a smile, Anabel
linked her arm with her cousin’s.
“Should we change first?” asked the girl, looking from her own crumpled gown to Anabel’s creased traveling dress.
“We can do so when we have eaten,” declared the other, urging her forward, and they walked down to the breakfast parlor together.
Lady Goring found them there twenty minutes later, surrounded by the remains of a substantial breakfast. “Oh, Mama,” said Anabel. “Did the children fall asleep at once? I must go up to them. I would have come last night, but…” She hesitated.
“They were asleep almost before I put them to bed, and they are still sleeping now. I asked Nurse on my way down.” She looked from one to the other. “What of you?”
“I fell asleep in my gown,” replied Georgina sheepishly. She rose. “I must go and change it.”
Lady Goring looked at her daughter as Georgina went out. “And you, Anabel?”
“I had too much to think about.”
“Indeed?” She surveyed her closely.
“Yes.”
She did not explain, and Lady Goring did not press her, despite her curiosity about what had passed between her daughter and Hanford the previous night. It was obvious that something had, but she decided it would be best to wait and let it develop.
“I must change also,” added Anabel, pushing back her chair. “I will look in on the children when I am dressed.”
Lady Goring nodded and reached for the teapot.
But as Anabel was ascending the stairs the bell rang and a footman went to the door. She lingered on the landing, wondering if it could be Christopher so early. But the voice that drifted up to her was that of Sir Charles Norbury, calm and confident of his welcome. He had stepped inside and seen her before Anabel could move. “Ah. There you are,” he added, striding quickly up to her. He glanced at her dress. “Are the children not back, then?”
