Annabelle: A Regency Romance (The Four Sisters' Series Book 2)

by Audrey Harrison

  “Good afternoon, Frances; it is turning out to be a fine day. Have you been outside yet?” Stuart asked pleasantly.

  “No, I’ve stayed inside in case I was needed,” Frances said quietly.

  “That’s very good of you,” Stuart responded. “Would you like to join me in some refreshments? I feel a fresh cup of tea would round the afternoon off nicely.”

  “Of course,” Frances murmured, following him back into the drawing room. She cursed her inability to walk away from a situation she was convinced would only give her pain, instead sitting placidly on the seat Stuart pulled out for her.

  “The grounds here are very beautiful; Lord Stannage has good taste,” Stuart said conversationally.

  “Yes, I believe he spends a lot of time here,” Frances said.

  “I don’t know him very well; I must have been travelling when he set-up house here.”

  “Which country did you like best?” Frances asked, genuinely curious.

  “Italy, without a doubt for the architecture; I have never seen so many beautiful buildings, but I love Austria and Switzerland for the dramatic scenery. It is sometimes like looking at a painting rather than a real mountain: the colours are so vivid and clear. The air is so clean; no smog caused by too many chimneys. You can see for miles without a building or person in sight,” Stuart answered with honesty.

  “You make it sound wonderful,” Frances said wistfully.

  “It can also be lonely,” Stuart said with a smile. “Remember not all my students were interested in the beauty of a place; they were often more concerned with the different type of beauty that a place could offer. I was often alone in rooms, listening to the noise of life going on around me, miles away from anyone who cared anything for me.”

  “Why did you do it then?” Frances asked. “I would hate to feel so alone.”

  “I wanted to see something of the world, and it was the only way a man of my social standing would be able to achieve that aim. Don’t feel sorry for me; I enjoyed myself as well,” Stuart said.

  Frances had to suppress the image of Stuart being entertained by faceless dancing girls; otherwise she would have been in danger of being ill, her jealousy was suddenly so real. “And now it comes to an end,” she said, not really knowing who she was aiming the comment at.

  “I always planned it to be so. I want to spend with Mother what time she has left, although she is likely going to outlive us all! But I also want to settle down; I’m not getting any younger,” Stuart said with a laugh.

  “My own father was five and thirty before they had me,” Frances said.

  “I will probably be around the same by the time the wedding has been arranged, if my chosen one accepts me.”

  “Is it anyone I know?” Frances asked, grinding her teeth but unable to stop herself from asking the question.

  “It is,” Stuart responded. “I know you will understand if I don’t mention anyone’s name at this point as I have not declared my recent feelings to the young woman in question.”

  “Of course,” Frances murmured. “Young woman?” she could not stop herself from asking.

  “Yes, I was surprised that mother would accept such a large age gap, but she was dismissive of it,” Stuart said, feigning surprise.

  Frances’s tea cup clattered in her saucer as she slammed it down on the table. Young, pretty, approved of by his mother and probably rich, she thought angrily to herself. She could not stand to be in the same room as him; she had the sudden urge to scream. She rose unsteadily and begged to be excused; Stuart stood and made his bow, enabling him to hide his smile before Frances left him alone to chuckle into his tea cup.

  *

  Annabelle knew the morning had come when she had to put into words what had been haunting her nights. It was the third day since her arrival, and Frederick was out of bed, dressed and sitting quite comfortably in his room. He was talking of recommencing his journey in a few days, so it was time to act.

  The extra time with him had been bittersweet. There had been no physical contact with him, but she had appreciated the opportunity they had had to talk together. She was convinced, if circumstances had been different, they would have had a happy marriage.

  She knocked gently on Frederick’s door and entered at the command. Simms was finishing off the intricate creases to his masters neckcloth. Frederick noted Annabelle’s serious mien and dismissed Simms.

  “What is it, Annabelle; are you ill?” Frederick asked, moving to his wife.

  Annabelle held out her hand to stop her husband reaching her; the reaction her body had when her hand came into contact with his chest sent her nerve endings into spasm as she touched him. “No, but we need to talk.”

  “Go ahead; I’m presuming this is what you followed me for?”

  Annabelle nodded before taking a seat and indicating that Frederick do the same. He complied, his eyes never leaving her face. She sighed and looked at him; she still thought him handsome, and she would never forget how safe she felt when he held her in his arms. Safe. It had been so important to her, and her words were going to condemn her to a life so lonely she probably would never experience the feeling again.

  She squared her shoulders: she had done him wrong; it was time to put him right, no matter the cost. “I didn’t set out to hurt you or trick you; I need you to believe that of me,” she started. “I liked you; I thought you felt something of what I was feeling: that is why I kissed you, I suppose, to prove that life really wasn’t as bad as it appeared.”

  Frederick did not respond; he was quiet as she struggled with words.

  “I should not have married you, but not for the reason you will presume,” Annabelle said eventually. “I needed an escape; I had to marry someone quickly, and I found myself in the study with you.”

  “Go on,” Frederick said, suddenly gritting his teeth.

  “I should not have married anyone, and when I said to you on our wedding night that I felt ill and it was nothing to do with you, I was speaking the truth,” Annabelle continued.

  “What was the cause of your distress?” Frederick ground out, her words bringing back the memory of the pain her rejection had caused.

  “You would have found out something about me that I did not wish anyone to know: no one still does, but with everything that has happened I needed to be honest with you. Freddy, it was not you I was reeling from on our wedding night; it was me. I am not an innocent,” Annabelle finished; tears stung her eyes. She wanted to be completely honest with him, but she could not. She had to say just enough to return him to his family.

  “What?” Frederick growled.

  “I am not an innocent,” Annabelle repeated. “I tricked you into marriage to save myself; it changed only after you were injured and were giving up all contact with your life here. I could not let you walk away from your family; only at that point was I sure I had to tell you the truth.” Or part of it, Annabelle thought.

  Frederick received yet another kick to his stomach at her words. “You acted as if you were the innocent, and yet you had lain with another man? Who was he?” He had no idea why he wanted to know who the man was, but for some reason he wanted to kill him.

  “No one you know, no one important,” Annabelle said with a shudder. “I’m sorry Frederick; you have been nothing but decent and kind, and I shouldn’t have taken advantage: it all happened so fast I didn’t think everything through. It just seemed like the perfect way of escaping what I was facing; I didn’t think of the consequences of your being hurt when you realised I was not an innocent. I am truly sorry.”

  The room stilled while Frederick’s mind reeled. Eventually he stood and walked to the window, looking out but seeing nothing. “You have made a fool of me,” he said through gritted teeth, the anger barely suppressed.

  “No one else knows,” Annabelle said quietly. “I haven’t told a soul.”

  “You watched how I was treated and joined the rest of them,” Frederick snapped, the hurt and anger bubbling to the surfa
ce. “Did you not think I would notice? Was that what all the coy behaviour was about? To convince me you were an innocent?”

  “I don’t know; I hadn’t thought anything through,” Annabelle admitted.

  “You probably thought I would be so grateful for any female attention I would forgive you, is that it? You thought I was so desperate I would forgive my wife being loose with her body? What kind of fool have you taken me for?”

  “No!” Annabelle said, standing. “It wasn’t like that! I never thought anything of the kind!”

  “Did you follow me into the study? Did you have it all planned? You probably did, didn’t you? And I, like a fool, believed every word you said! Good God! I didn’t think there was anything else anyone could throw at me that would surprise me, but you’ve managed it!” Frederick laughed bitterly. “And I was prepared to fake my own death and put myself in exile for you? Good God, I’ve been a complete idiot!”

  “I’m sorry, Freddy,” Annabelle whispered. She had needed to be honest with him, but she had not realised it would hurt so much to hear his words and see his pain.

  “Sorry? You don’t know the meaning of the word!” Frederick snapped. “Get out of my sight!” Annabelle did not move; tears were pouring down her face.

  “I said get out!” Frederick shouted at her. He reacted out of anger and picked up a glass vase that was on the window sill; he threw it as he shouted, wanting to frighten Annabelle into going away: but the glass shattered on the wall near where she stood, and a piece hit the side of her face.

  Annabelle flinched but did not cry out; she just put her hand to her head. Her hand felt wet, and she looked in horror as blood filled her palm; she looked at Frederick with a tortured expression before fleeing the room.

  Frederick sank to his knees and cried.

  Chapter 13

  The shouts and crashing glass had the effect of Frances, Stuart and Simms all meeting outside Frederick’s room within a moment or two of each other. All were horrified to see the bloodied hand and streaks of blood dripping down Annabelle’s face.

  Frances was the first to grab hold of Annabelle before she collapsed onto the floor. Stuart took the cue and supported Annabelle’s other side.

  “We need to get her to her room,” Frances said urgently.

  “Simms, fetch the doctor now and make sure no one goes in or out of that room!” Stuart demanded indicating Frederick’s chamber.

  Simms nodded and, for the first time in his service, he locked his master’s door from the outside with the key he always held. He ran down the stairs without looking back; he was not about to waste time speculating what had gone on: his mistress was injured, and that was his main concern at the moment.

  Annabelle was taken carefully to her bedchamber and laid on her bed. Frances immediately went to the water jug and soaked a cloth. She carefully wiped Annabelle’s hands before attending to her face.

  Annabelle had stopped crying, but was physically shaking from what had happened. She started to stammer at Frances. “I-it wasn’t his fault; i-it wasn’t his fault.”

  “Sh,” Frances said gently, but she raised her eyebrows at Stuart, both wondering what on earth had gone on.

  “F-Frances,” Annabelle stammered. “L-look after him: I-I’ve hurt him terribly; i-it’s all my fault.”

  “There is only one person who is hurting, and the doctor will soon sort you out. I don’t think the gash is very deep, but I will be happier when he has seen it,” Frances said calmly, continuing to clean the wound.

  It seemed an age until the doctor arrived but, after examining Annabelle, he confirmed what Frances had suspected. “The cut will heal; injuries at the side of the head tend to bleed more than other cuts would. I’m more concerned about her mental state; she’s had a nasty shock,” the doctor said, proving why he was called on by the families of note within a large radius by not asking many questions. “She needs a sedative to help calm her down. I will give her a large dose now and leave another dose for tomorrow. She won’t wake today and probably not tonight either. If she is distressed when she wakes, give her the second dose immediately. It won’t do any long-term damage,” he instructed.

  They stayed with Annabelle until the dose of laudanum took effect and then Stuart led the doctor out while Frances and a maid made Annabelle more comfortable. Stuart returned to the bedchamber but knocked gently on the door rather than walking straight in.

  Frances opened the door and stepped outside, closing the door behind her. “She is settled. Her maid is staying with her while I go and give Lord Stannage a piece of my mind!”

  “Frances, it is nothing to do with us,” Stuart tried to calm Frances; but for the first time in their acquaintance, he could see fire in her eyes.

  “It has everything to do with us! She is my friend and has been hurt by her husband; if you want to ignore that fact you can, but I certainly will not!”

  Frances did not wait for a reply from Stuart; she marched back along the landing towards Frederick’s door. Stuart followed Frances meekly, not sure if she was doing the right thing, but wanting to protect her if needed: although, from the look of her, he would be more likely to be protecting Lord Stannage. Simms was hovering in the area unsure what to do and stepped forward when he saw their approach.

  “Is Lord Stannage still inside?” Frances asked, her usual gentle tone gone.

  “Yes, Miss Latimer; no one has been in or out, as instructed,” Simms replied quietly.

  “Good. Please open the door and then you can leave us. I wish to speak to Lord Stannage alone,” Frances instructed.

  Simms did as he was bid, hiding any trepidation he felt at leaving them alone with his master. He had never seen anything like it in all his years of service.

  Frederick had stopped crying but was still crouched in the same position he had assumed when Annabelle left the room. He did not react to Frances or Stuart entering the room and closing the door behind them.

  “Your wife will live, no thanks to you,” Frances started.

  “Frances!” Stuart hissed. “This will not help.”

  “Neither will throwing things like a spoiled child!” Frances retorted. “Lord Stannage would you care to explain what possessed you to act in such a way that could have caused serious harm to someone who loves you dearly?”

  Frederick laughed, but neither person standing before him had ever heard such a bitter sound coming from him. “Loves me dearly? In that case I am glad she doesn’t hate me!”

  “Why do you think she dashed half way across the country, even prepared to follow you to Portugal if necessary, but to straighten this out, so you could return to your family,” Frances persisted, but her tone was more gentle.

  “How the hell can I return to my family? I will either see their pity or their amusement at what an utter fool I’ve been!” Frederick snapped.

  “You have misunderstood; she was not trying to make a fool of you,” Frances insisted.

  “Oh, was she not? Did she tell you what she was going to say to me? Did she tell you what lies she told me?” Frederick said, finally looking at Frances.

  Frances was taken aback by the look in Frederick’s eyes; she had never seen such utter pain in someone’s expression before. “No, she didn’t; and I don’t want to know. Annabelle would not have hurt you unless she had no other choice. You cannot believe she would.”

  “It has all been a lie; she told me it was all a lie,” Frederick said quietly, before again putting his head in his hands.

  Stuart indicated that Frances should leave with him, and Frances allowed herself to be led out of the room. Nothing was said until the door was closed behind them. “There is obviously more to what has happened than you or I know; I suggest we leave things at the moment and let them settle down a little. He may be more rational when he has had time to think,” he reasoned.

  “I have never seen him like this; he has always been so pleasant, so charming,” Frances said, troubled at what she had witnessed.

  Stu
art took hold of Frances’s hand and pulled it through his arm before walking towards the staircase. “The same could be said of you,” he said with a smile.

  “What?” Frances asked, a little flustered at the physical contact and the look in Stuart’s eye.

  “I have never ever seen you as you were in there! You weren’t cowed by his responses; I half expected you to grab hold of him and drag him to his feet,” Stuart said with genuine admiration in his voice.

  Frances laughed, despite the seriousness of what had happened. “I would have done, if I’d thought I could lift him! I was so angry with him!”

  “I think he could tell,” Stuart said drily.

  Frances batted his arm before pulling away from him. “I’m going to sit with Annabelle; I suggest you try to fool the household into thinking their master hasn’t gone completely mad!”

  *

  In the late afternoon Frances received a message from the maid that the maid was to sit with her mistress while afternoon tea awaited Frances in the drawing room. Frances left the bedchamber, confident that Annabelle would not stir; she had not moved throughout the afternoon, the dose of the drug being so large.

  Stuart smiled when Frances entered the room. “I’m glad you’re having a break; you’ve been in there for four hours: I was worried when you didn’t join me for lunch.”

  “I couldn’t have eaten,” Frances said as she sat on the sofa. “My stomach was still churning from all that had happened but, thankfully, it has settled down, and I am hungry.”

  Stuart put some cakes on a plate and handed them to Frances; he then poured her tea. Frances noted that he knew exactly how she took it: it was only a little thing, but it pleased her. After what she had witnessed, anything positive was a welcome relief.

  They sat in companionable silence, eating the fine cakes when the butler entered the room. “I am sorry to disturb you Mr Adams, but I have a Mrs Adams wishing to see you both,” came the calm monotone.