In the Light of Day

by Brenda Joyce

  Annabel looked at her. Recalling the theft caused the tears to fall again. She had never cried so much in her life—not even the last time. She had never felt so heavy, so lifeless, so exhausted.

  "It was Braxton, wasn't it? Has he run away already?" Lizzie asked.

  Annabel wiped her running eyes with the back of her hand. "Yes, it was Braxton, and he is gone. And actually, the burglary took place at three-thirty this morning, not last night."

  Lizzie blinked. "How would you know that?" But now she was staring at Annabel's black dress. "And why are you wearing a housemaid's uniform?"

  "Do you really want to know?"

  Lizzie stood, her color shocking in its pallor. "Oh, dear Lord. Oh, please, please, tell me you did not get so involved with him that... I cannot even think it."

  Annabel did not bother to reply. She was too despondent. She choked on another sob.

  "Oh, Annabel, he is such a horrid man, do not cry this way over him." Lizzie hugged her hard.

  Annabel did not reply. A part of her was still ready to defend him, but she refused to do so, by damn. She would never defend him again. But she heard herself ask, "Adam? Is he going to the authorities?"

  "How can he? We have discussed it at length. He and I should have come forward with the truth about Braxton immediately, but we did not, and he is a wanted felon, Annabel. And where would such a confession leave you? Why, it would make you seem to be his accomplice!"

  Annabel could not laugh, not even mirthlessly. "I am his accomplice," she muttered.

  Lizzie moaned. "Do not say another word! Do not tell me another thing! Please, do not!"

  Annabel looked at her sister, who was extremely distraught, and fell back onto the bed, reaching for the pillow, which she placed over her head.

  She could not even hate Braxton. All she could do was grieve. She had loved him and lost him a second time.

  "Annabel." Lizzie's tone was firm. "Adam has already wired Papa. I imagine that he will arrive tomorrow."

  Annabel sat up, eyes wide. "You're going to tell him, aren't you? You're going to tell him everything."

  "Yes," Lizzie said. "For your own sake."

  Her father arrived late the following day. Annabel had not stepped out of her room since Braxton had left. But she had learned from the housemaid assigned to her floor that the local police were sweeping the area for him, suspecting him of the theft because of his abrupt departure in the middle of the night. As yet, no one seemed to have connected Wainscot with Braxton. In spite of herself, Annabel was relieved.

  Her father had only just checked in, but Annabel was already summoned to his suite by a porter. She took one glance at herself in the mirror over her bureau and winced—she was a terrible sight, her eyes and nose swollen and red, her face pallid and white. Summoning up her courage, she left her room and went to his suite on the fifth floor. Anxiety filled her. She could not imagine what he was going to do to her now. He would probably disinherit her and throw her out of the house. That did not scare her as much as facing his wrath did. Finally, fearfully, she knocked.

  "Enter," he barked.

  She winced. His tone of voice told her that he had no patience left for anyone, and that her situation—her future-—was dire indeed. She walked into the wood-paneled sitting room of his apartment.

  He turned. "What do you have to say for yourself?" he demanded in another bark.

  He looked extremely tired—and extremely angry. "How are you, Papa?" she ventured.

  "Do not inquire after my welfare or my journey, by damn! He was here, and you are here, and I am in a state of disbelief!" George Boothe roared. "Were the two of you carrying on?"

  Annabel cringed, tears filling her eyes. But they had nothing to do with his anger—and everything to do with her loss, her love, and her grief. "Yes," she whispered. "He was here. We were carrying on."

  He stared, wide-eyed, as if he had expected her to deny it. For a long moment he could not speak. "How could you? He abducted you, Annabel, and you just forgave him?" He was incredulous. "You are an intelligent and strong woman. You allowed him to seduce you?"

  "Yes," she whispered brokenly.

  He stared again, as if doubting his own ears. "I will kill him when he is caught!"

  "I love him!" she cried back.

  "Oh, God!" he cried.

  Annabel collapsed onto an ottoman, weeping against her own volition.

  George turned back to her, towering over her. "Annabel, you cannot possibly love such a man. Not only is he a complete stranger, he is a thief. He breaks the law, by God. Did I not raise you to know the difference between right and wrong? How is it possible that you just stood by and allowed him to rob the countess?" He was grim. "How could you not have turned him in?"

  "Even now, as hurt as I am, I pray he eludes the police," she whispered, not daring to look up. Had Lizzie told him everything? Did he know that she had participated in the theft? It did not seem so, thank God.

  "If you were a child, I would turn you over my knee and give you a serious spanking, Annabel. Perhaps this is all my fault." He threw his hands up into the air. "By allowing you your wild ways as a child, by never striking you, not even once!"

  "It's not your fault," she managed hoarsely. "It is my fault. Something is wrong with me, Papa. Pierce and I, we are alike."

  "You are alike?" he shouted. "You are not alike, Annabel. He is a thief. You, by God, are a Boothe."

  Annabel hugged herself. "I am sorry, Papa, for failing you and for protecting him, but where he is concerned, I cannot help myself. Do you know that he is the only person I have ever met who admires me for my outspokenness, for my determination, for my courage?" She covered her face with her hands. "I cannot seem to stop crying," she moaned. "If only I could stop crying!"

  Silence filled the room. Boothe went to her, lifting her to her feet and taking her into his arms. "Oh, Annabel. I will kill him for breaking your heart, that I promise you."

  She managed to look up at her father. "No. You see, Jie never made me any promises, Papa. I wanted to go with him. But he refused. He would not let me go with him. He did not want me to suffer the risk of being captured and incarcerated, and he even told me he expected me to find love with another man one day. Yes, he has broken my heart—yet again. But you should thank him for refusing to take me with him, instead of vowing to kill him."

  "You are defending him." Boothe stared, and finally he sat down hard on the sofa. "You love him still. Oh, Annabel. What am I going to do with you?"

  "It doesn't matter," she said. "My life is over. Pierce is wrong. My future doesn't exist."

  "No." Boothe stood. "You have committed a grave error of judgment, but affairs of the heart are rarely wise. Your future begins today. I have never dictated to you before, and as much as I comprehend your grief now, I will do what is right for you—as I should have done two years ago."

  Annabel was alarmed. "What do you intend?"

  "You will marry, my dear, like every other proper woman, and one day you will thank me for it."

  Two days later, Annabel stood at the altar in the reception hall of the hotel, which had been festively decorated with flowers and candles for her wedding to Thomas Frank. Her entire family was present, as was the countess and her entourage and most of the hotel's guests. Annabel was numb.

  She would do as her father asked, because she did not care about her life anymore and she did not have the strength or the inclination to fight with him. Lizzie had pointed out that Thomas Frank was besotted with her, and she would probably be able to do as she liked once married—that this was, for Annabel, a very good match. Annabel had looked at her, wondering if she were out of her mind. Lizzie had married for love after a brief but stormy courtship. She and Adam remained in love four and a half years later. Who was Lizzie fooling?

  Melissa had been more rational. "Papa is right. The time has come for you to settle down and grow up, Annabel. You could have found someone to your liking if you had tried, but you never tried, so
now you have no choice."

  Annabel did not dare look at the groom now, but she glanced at Missy, who seemed pleased by the turn of events. It struck her then, for the first time in her life, that her sister did not wish her well, but she could not fathom why.

  Suddenly Annabel realized that the minister had paused and was staring at her. She began to flush. She had been so immersed in her thoughts—and her misery—that she had not been paying attention to a word he said. Thomas nudged her.

  "I do," he whispered.

  Oh, God. Annabel froze, unable to speak. She realized now what stage they had reached in the ceremony—just as she realized she could not go through with this.

  "She does." Her father stepped forward from where he stood just behind Thomas with her mother and her sisters and brothers-in-law. "Annabel?" He stared commandingly at her.

  Annabel opened her mouth. No words came out.

  The white-haired minister looked at her, his eyes kind. "My dear, do you, Annabel Boothe, take this man to be your husband? In sickness and in health, in good times and in bad, for better or for worse?"

  Annabel wet her lips. A huge silence filled the reception hall.

  And a cramp seized her. She gasped.

  The minister smiled, apparently misinterpreting the sound for an affirmation, and he turned to Thomas quickly. As quickly, Thomas reached for and took her hand, clearly saying, "I do."

  Annabel closed her eyes in disbelief. In another moment they would be man and wife.

  "If there be any man present who objects to this union, set forth your objections now, or forever hold your peace," the minister intoned.

  The hall was silent.

  I object, Annabel thought wildly. I object!

  The minister smiled and opened his mouth to pronounce them man and wife.

  "I object," Pierce cried, striding down the aisle.

  Annabel cried out and turned as the crowd gasped. Her eyes widened and her knees buckled. She could not believe her eyes—she had never wanted to behold anyone more.

  He had come—he had come to rescue her.

  "I beg your pardon?" the minister asked, bewildered.

  Pierce paused beside Annabel. "I object," he said, his rich voice carrying. "Annabel Boothe cannot marry this man."

  George came to life. "Arrest him. It's the thief who stole the Rossini ruby!"

  And several members of the hotel staff came rushing forward from the very back of the hall, including the manager. The five men grabbed Pierce and immobilized him. But he did not struggle. Finally, his gaze met Annabel's.

  She was crying. How she loved him. She had never loved anyone more.

  "Get the sheriff," the manager was ordering one of his bellmen. The young bellhop ran off.

  "Wait!" Annabel cried.

  The bellhop actually faltered and stopped halfway down the aisle, for her tone had been so sharp.

  Annabel looked at Pierce. He smiled at her, calm, composed, filled with assurance. She tried to smile back, but her rioting emotions—and her fear for him—made it impossible. She faced her father and their guests. "Mr. Wainscot did not steal the countess's ruby," she said firmly.

  "Annabel," George began warningly.

  "No." Annabel shook her head. She did not hesitate. He had come to rescue her—and she would rescue him. "He could not have stolen the ruby that night. It was a physical impossibility." She looked at Pierce again.

  He was staring, his smile gone, as if he knew exactly what she would say.

  Her pulse was deafening her. Annabel wet her lips. Raising her voice, she said, "He was with me the entire night, until well after sunrise. With me—in my bed."

  George turned white. Lizzie cried out. Missy gasped. Lucinda slowly crumpled to the floor. John and Adam, apparently paralyzed by Annabel's declaration, failed to catch her. And the crowd began talking wildly.

  "It's the truth," Annabel said, aware of her burning cheeks. But she held her head high.

  "Annabel," George said harshly, "do you realize what you are saying?"

  She looked at her father, wishing desperately he would come to her aid, would understand—would bless them. "Papa, I have spoken the truth. Pierce was with me, he could not have stolen the ruby."

  The crowd continued to whisper among themselves. Annabel and her father stared at one another until Annabel turned to Pierce. She finally smiled at him.

  He did not smile back. But the look in his eyes was so powerful that she felt her knees buckling all over again.

  Suddenly the countess was pressing through the crowd and coming up the aisle. "Pierce Wainscot is my friend," she declared. "He would never steal from me." And she smiled at Annabel.

  Annabel stared. And slowly, she smiled back.

  The countess turned to George and the manager of the Acadia. "As far as I am concerned, the ruby is a thing of the past," she began.

  "Contessa, Contessa!"

  Annabel blinked. One of Guilia's companions was running up the aisle, holding something in her hand. Annabel saw the pearl necklace with the Rossini ruby and whirled to face Pierce. He grinned.

  "I found this in your chamber when I was preparing your evening clothes for supper tonight," the woman cried.

  For one moment, Guilia stared, and then she took the necklace and beamed. "I think there has not been any robbery, after all." And she shrugged, in a very European, elaborate manner.

  George said slowly, looking now from Annabel to Pierce and back again, "Apparently not."

  "Well." Pierce now spoke up. "If you good men would release me so I might continue?"

  He was released. And he now had the attention of everyone: the minister, Thomas, George, the countess, the Boothe family, the entire crowd. "I love this woman," he said. "And I believe that she loves me. Which is why she cannot marry Thomas. I wish to marry her myself." He faced George. "But perhaps I should introduce myself first. My full name is Pierce Wainscot Braxton St. Clare. The Viscount of Kildare." And he bowed.

  Annabel was stunned. "You are titled?"

  He smiled at her. "Unfortunately, yes. You see, a year ago my older and only brother was killed in a hunting accident."

  He was titled. He was aristocracy. In fact, Kildare was in Ireland—he wasn't English at all. Annabel's gaze swung to her father. How could he refuse Pierce now? And suddenly there was joy and elation.

  "Wait one moment," George was paying. "Are you by any chance related to the Marquis of Connaught?"

  "Julian is my cousin," Pierce replied quite smugly. "My first cousin. I take it you are acquainted with the family of his wife, the Ralstons?"

  Even Annabel blinked. "Lisa is a friend of mine," she whispered.

  Pierce's smile seemed to widen. "It is such a wee world," he said, lapsing into a hint of Irish brogue.

  "I would like a private word with you, sir," George said stiffly.

  "Actually, it is 'my lord,' " Pierce said. The two men stepped aside. Annabel had no intention of being left out, and she hurried around the side of the altar where they were speaking in whispers. As she did so, she glimpsed poor Thomas Frank, bewildered and morose, and she felt sorry for him. But he would not have been happy with her as a wife. Within weeks he would have realized that she was far too high-spirited for him.

  "Why the hell are you a thief?" George demanded keeping his voice low.

  "I suppose there are two explanations," Pierce said calmly. "I have a faulty character—and it has to do with my family."

  "Do you care to explain yourself, sir?"

  "My father was quite accomplished, actually," Pierce said with an apologetic shrug. "But in reality, I steal for more 'respectable' reasons. I've been retained by the British Museum for the past five years in order to restore the collection of jewels that once belonged to Catherine the Great's nephew. It was stolen twenty-five years ago and the museum wants it back, piece by piece, if necessary. It's been quite an exciting vocation."

  Annabel felt herself begin to giggle. But only Pierce heard her, and this time,
the look he gave her made her melt inside.

  "My dear man," Pierce said. "I have finally met my match in life—your daughter. I love her and I wish to marry her. If you will allow me the honor, I will give up my career," he said flatly, "and live a more conventional life."

  Annabel moved to his side and they clasped hands. She could not believe her ears—or what he was prepared to do in order to spend the rest of his life with her.

  She looked at her father. "Papa, please."

  George hesitated, and nodded gruffly. "Given today's turn of events, I do not think I have a choice in the matter."

  Annabel clapped her hands, excitement filling her.

  "I would like to do the deed now," Pierce said. He turned. "Mr. Frank, I am so sorry for the inconvenience, but would you mind stepping aside?"

  Frank looked from Pierce to Annabel. "I knew it was too good to be true. Good luck, sir. Annabel—I wish you so much happiness."

  "Thank you," Pierce said.

  Impulsively, Annabel went to Thomas to hug him. Then she returned to Pierce's side as her father took his place with her family. Her mother was being revived by Missy.

  "You, Reverend, may marry us now," Pierce instructed.

  The minister stared, wide-eyed and flushed.

  "Go ahead," George said, nodding.

  Annabel and Pierce, hand in hand, faced the minister, who was recovering his composure. "This holiest state of matrimony," he began.

  Annabel hardly heard. Pierce was gazing tenderly at her, and she could not look away.

  "No one," he whispered low, as the minister continued to speak, "has ever made me contemplate changing my entire life, other than you."

  Annabel gripped his hands. "I love you, too. But Pierce, I do not want you to change your ways," she whispered.

  "What?" He was both perplexed and amused.

  "I should be unhappy if you changed your ways," Annabel said, smiling but deadly earnest.

  And he understood. He tipped back his head and laughed.