“Clearly not,” Annabelle said with a smile. “I think you are too hard on yourself. You perhaps have listened to the likes of Lady Joan too often. I saw immediately what a dear you are; perhaps someone who has known you for years would come to appreciate you far more.”
“I don’t know; I just don’t seem to be able to believe it. Romances and proposals don’t happen to the likes of me,” Frances said, genuinely puzzled at the turn of events.
“I think you know your answer, but you shouldn’t give it until you are ready to appreciate that he wants you. If you don’t accept that, you will always feel you were second best which, of course, I think is ludicrous; but you need to believe it is you he wants,” Annabelle said.
“You’re right; I’m just frightened that I won’t ever feel good enough,” Frances admitted.
“I wish there were something I could do to convince you, but there isn’t. It is a decision only you can make. I hope you make the right one and soon; we want another wedding!”
*
The party gathered in the hallway the following evening for the unexpected trip out to the theatre. Susan and Andrew had declined the invitation; too many late nights when farming were not a good idea. It meant that the party could easily fit in two carriages.
Annabelle was dressed in a lilac taffeta embroidered with cream motifs around the edges. Lilac feathers on a cream clip completed the outfit along with a pair of cream satin gloves. Frederick wore a navy frock coat with cream waistcoat and buff coloured breeches. Annabelle admired Frederick without him noticing her stares. He was handsome, standing tall alongside Stuart, William and Harold.
She smiled when he smiled, responding to something William said. Frederick turned as if aware he was being watched; when his eyes met Annabelle’s, he bowed his head towards her, and his smile softened. Annabelle returned the smile. She wondered when having a connection with him, even when they were not standing together, had become important to her. A room was not the same without him in it.
They were joined by William in their carriage to travel to the theatre. Frederick would have preferred to be alone to enjoy his wife’s kisses, but he accepted that it would seem rude to refuse to carry one of the party when there was so much room.
William and Frederick chatted amiably on the journey. He was discussing his plans for the future with them both.
“I hope to spend some time in London enjoying the season; I need to take advantage of all the pretty faces,” he said jovially.
“We shall await to hear of your conquests in the gossip newspapers,” Frederick responded.
“Will you be very shocking?” Annabelle asked.
“I hope so,” William responded. “I seem to have been studying for many years; it is time to have some fun.”
“So you won’t want to spend time with us at Stannage House?” Frederick asked.
“Depending how fast I spend my allowance, I may need to escape to Stannage House, if I can?” William asked, being honest about his ways.
“As long as you’re running from spending and not from angry fathers wanting you to marry their compromised daughters, you will always be welcome,” Frederick assured him.
They arrived at the theatre and alighted, joining the rest of the group. They entered together, acknowledging one or two acquaintances as they pressed through the crowd.
Annabelle noticed some people taking note of Frederick’s presence, staring at him and speaking behind fans or turning away to whisper. It felt odd to her; she genuinely did not notice anything amiss: if anything, to her, Frederick’s eyes were now so much a part of him it would seem strange if he had a single eye colour.
The play was a comedy and quite entertaining, although the heckling from the crowd sometimes intruded on the pleasure. The stalls were very lively and certainly added to William’s enjoyment. His running commentary of what was happening in the stalls was sometimes funnier than the play itself. They had refreshments served in the box. Frederick might want to socialise more, but there were limitations to how much staring he could tolerate in one evening.
When the play ended, the group hung back a little to let the throng of people leave. William had seen a friend and left the group to continue his evening out. When the theatre was quieter, the party moved towards the exit and left the building behind.
They were in a part of Carlisle Frederick had not visited for some time. There had been a new grand fountain installed that was the talk of Caroline and Susan, which he was curious to see. Although it was evening, it would be still working; it was a bright night, so Frederick’s curiosity got the better of him.
He explained his plan to see the fountain. Caroline offered to join them so they could all view it, but Frederick dismissed the plan. “There is no use delaying your return; we will be minutes behind you.” He did not want to run the risk of someone joining them in their carriage; he wanted some time to be alone with Annabelle, no matter how short. His opportunities were few; he had to take advantage when they arose.
The party separated, and Frederick walked Annabelle around the theatre building and through a formal park. It was small, a pocket of greenery amidst the buildings of the centre. He had instructed that the carriage meet them at the far side of the park after ten minutes.
The night had quietened, the groups of people soon dispersing onto further entertainments or returning home. The pair walked, enjoying the peace.
“Ah, there it is!” Annabelle exclaimed, the fountain in sight as soon as the park gates were reached. “It is quite large.”
“It is; it dwarfs the park,” Frederick said, taking in the three-tiered fountain topped with a large stone pineapple. It had been built to make a statement about the abilities of its stone mason and architect. It was more than a feature as it took attention away from every other aspect of the park.
“It would never be considered as understated,” Annabelle said.
“No, I don’t think subtlety was the foremost thought when the architect was designing it,” Frederick said with a smile.
“I’d prefer a stylish structure,” Annabelle responded.
They continued beyond the fountain, managing to avoid being splashed. The amount of water needed to look effective on such a structure meant the area surrounding the fountain was wet because of overspill.
Three men entered the gates at the opposite end of the park. Annabelle did not think anything of their presence until they were almost level with them.
“Ha ha! It’s Freddy the freak!” One of the three men said, as they approached the couple. “Been let out of your cage for the evening, have you?”
“Ignore them,” Annabelle said quietly to Frederick. She raised her chin as they reached the group, determined to brazen out the situation but aware that Frederick’s posture had stiffened.
“Lost your voice, freak?” The second gentleman jeered. The three men circled the couple, jostling Frederick.
“Call yourselves gentlemen?” Frederick said, biting back his anger at being ridiculed in front of Annabelle. “Such behaviour in front of a lady! Tut tut, gentlemen.”
“And who is the lovely lady who has the misfortune to be associated with you? You must have paid highly for a piece of this little light skirt,” came the mocking response.
Frederick felt as if he were going to explode with rage but gritted his teeth. “You will apologise to my wife or face the consequences.” He squared up to the gentleman foolish enough to utter the words, but Frederick’s actions had released Annabelle from his arm; the other two took full advantage.
“Come here my lady; we will show you what it is like to be with a real man.” The first man leered and grabbed hold of Annabelle.
She tried to be brave not wanting the situation to get any worse, but her gasp of panic as she was grabbed was enough for Frederick to react. He charged at the first man, who was holding onto his wife, and hit him hard before he had time to react. Annabelle was unceremoniously pushed to one side as the fight took hold.
Later when looking back at the situation, Annabelle would never be able to decide what had been the trigger that had caused her to act, but one moment she was watching the scene helplessly, and the next she was throwing her gloves to the ground and leaping on the back of the nearest man.
“Leave him be! Leave him be!” she shouted, scratching and punching for all she was worth.
The gentleman who had the misfortune of being closest to Annabelle ceased attacking Frederick in his attempt to get rid of the hysterical woman on his back who was making a nasty mess of his face with her nails. The other two paused at the outburst but did not come to their friend’s aid; they just looked astounded at the sight.
Eventually, a sharp turn by the man unseated Annabelle, and she was flung to the ground with an ominous thud. She lay winded, unable to move.
“Hey, Thompson! What the devil have you done?” One of the young men said accusingly to his friend.
“What do you mean, what have I done?” Thompson snapped back. “She was attacking me! From the feel of my face, I won’t be able to show myself in company for a week! She’s a damned madwoman.” He stood, touching his face delicately, but he did look worriedly at Annabelle’s still form.
The third young man approached Annabelle and nudged her with his foot; she did not respond. “You won’t be showing your face in public at all if she’s dead. I suggest we make haste and disappear into the night.”
“We can’t do that; they need help!” The second man said with disgust.
“If you want to hang, feel free to act the good Samaritan, but remember: you fought as well as the rest of us. Don’t involve me; I have an appointment with a decent bottle of brandy,” came the callous words, followed by footsteps walking away.
The other two looked at each other before following close on the heels of their friend. No one else was in the area; they got away unobserved.
Frederick felt as if there was not one part of his body that had not been kicked or punched, but he had to move. “Annabelle,” he croaked. “Oh, God, Annabelle!” She had come to his aid and was now lying in a lifeless heap for her efforts. No one outside his family circle had ever defended him and, in her efforts to protect him, she had been thrown to the ground and was now as still as a corpse. He cursed himself; he should have known their family connections would not protect them: they had never protected him before: he had been a fool to think things would change.
He crawled over to Annabelle and almost sank to the ground with relief when he saw her move. “Annabelle?” he croaked.
“Frederick?” Annabelle whispered. “Have they gone?” She did not open her eyes; she no longer felt brave.
“Yes, they have. Can you move?” Frederick asked.
“I think so; I’m unharmed,” Annabelle assured him but sat up slowly anyway. “I played dead on purpose; it was the only thing I could think of that would help.”
Frederick laughed out loud and then groaned, the action causing his lip to split further. He winced and held his hand to his face. The action made Annabelle realise how hurt her husband was.
“Freddy! Oh, my goodness; we need to get you home!” she exclaimed. “If I help you, do you think you can walk?”
Frederick had been taken by surprise at the name Annabelle had used. She had not uttered anything so familiar in the time they had known one another. He presumed correctly that he must look a complete sight and had stirred her sympathy.
“I will certainly try. The thought of crawling to the edge of the parkland does not appeal; I would hate to ruin these breeches,” he said, attempting humour, while trying to stand.
Annabelle smiled at his words and helped him as best she could. He was a large man, and she was able to support him only slightly; she could not take his full weight, but Frederick knew this and just held on to her as an aid rather than as full support. Unfortunately, he did need her help: to that he had to accede.
They struggled through the dark park, neither interested in anything it had to offer. Annabelle prayed the carriage would soon arrive; it must have been longer than ten minutes. The fight itself had seemed to last forever.
Frederick cursed his stupidity with every painful step he took; he could never escape or belong to society; there would always be someone prepared to take advantage of his difference and use it against him, of that he was sure. He should never have involved Annabelle; theirs might have been a forced marriage, but she did not deserve what life married to him actually meant. He determined that, when he could think straight, he would put things right.
As soon as she spotted the carriage, Annabelle shouted for assistance. Their slow and stumbling walk through the park was replaced with manic activity by the staff coming to the aid of their master and mistress. The carriage reached home in record time and shouts raised the alarm as soon as they reached the house. Once again, staff sprang into action, watched in horror by the residents of the house.
Lord Stannage was carried upstairs to his chamber; Lady Stannage was helped to hers. Caroline had tried to speak to Frederick, but he waved her words away. “Not yet,” Frederick muttered, each word causing him pain.
Once Annabelle was in her bedchamber, her maid had a bath drawn; Annabelle was undressed and helped into the bath without uttering a word. The warm water soothed her. Her body was aching from hitting the ground and the strain of trying to support Frederick, although she would have never complained.
She lay back as the water covered her limbs; they had been so lucky. Either, if not both of them, could have been killed. It was obvious the three men had few morals among them. She had heard every word they uttered.
She was convinced tonight had been a major insight into Frederick’s life experiences. He was a good fighter, probably more of necessity if he was regularly treated with such barbarity. She did not know how one human being could be so cruel to another; it was only the colour of his eyes that made him stand out from everyone else. If they had been the same colour, she was convinced that every single woman would have been trying to secure him as a husband. He was handsome, confident and rich, normally a heady mix in any society, but for one small difference, he was ridiculed.
Annabelle paused, she was not sure why, but the feeling of Frederick being chased by all the single women in the ton did not rest easy with her. She shook herself: she was his wife; they were becoming closer; it was only the events of the day making her feel maudlin.
She sighed as she got out of the bath and was wrapped in towels before sitting on the seat beside the dressing table. Her maid gently brushed out her hair, treating her mistress as if she were made of glass.
A knock at the door preceded Caroline entering the room. Annabelle had never seen the woman look so pale. “How are you feeling?” Caroline asked as she crossed the room.
“Sore but it will heal in a few days,” Annabelle replied with a small smile. It was true; there were no outward signs of injury, just sore ribs as a result of hitting the ground with force.
“We should have stayed together,” Caroline said, sitting on the edge of the bed while the maid worked on Annabelle’s hair.
“There was no one around; it was just unfortunate they came into the park when they did. Another few minutes, and we would have missed them; it was just poor timing,” Annabelle said reasonably.
“Freddy is more angry than I’ve ever seen him,” Caroline said.
“How are his injuries?”
“He’s in a lot of pain, and his face looks a mess, but he refuses to let me send for the doctor.”
Annabelle stoppe
d her maid completing her task and stood, indicating she required her dressing gown. “I need to go to him.”
“You should rest,” Caroline urged.
“I took one tumble; he was kicked and punched until I thought he would never survive. I need to see him, and if he needs to see the doctor, the doctor he will see.”
Chapter 9
Annabelle had never entered her husband’s bedchamber. She only found its location when she chanced to see him leave it one morning. The thought that she would be crossing the threshold for the first time did not make her steps falter; her husband was being foolish, and she was not about to indulge him.
Frederick looked up in surprise when Annabelle walked into the room without knocking. He was astounded to see her, but more so for the facts that she was dressed in her nightwear and her hair was loose and damp. He could hardly take his eyes off her chestnut locks that, even though brushed, were wild, curling across her shoulders like a thick shawl.
“Annabelle?” he queried, trying not to move his lips, the pain each time they split seemed to increase.
Annabelle almost faltered when she walked into the room. Frederick was in bed, but he was propped up, one eye closed and bruised, the other looking swollen. His mouth looked distorted, and his cheeks were bruised. He looked awful.
Before answering Frederick, Annabelle turned to her husband’s valet. “Please send a message for the doctor; my husband needs to see him.”
“Yes, my Lady,” the valet responded, moving to the door.
“I don’t need the doctor, Simms,” Frederick said.
The valet paused and looked between his master and mistress. Annabelle glared at Frederick before once again turning to the valet. “Has my husband got other injuries that are unseen in his current position?” she asked sharply.
“Yes, my Lady,” the valet answered truthfully.
Annabelle: A Regency Romance (The Four Sisters' Series Book 2) Page 9
