by Kim Bowman
“I’m so sorry, Mother. I never meant to worry you. It all happened so fast…”
“What exactly did happen?”
Annabella let out a sigh. How did she explain? Where did she start? “I hardly know myself.” She swallowed, trying to tap down the emotion lodged in the throat.
“Annabella? Are you ill? You’ve gone quite ashen.” Concern decorated her mother’s voice. “You aren’t… aren’t…” Her sudden interest in Annabella’s middle finished her question.
“I’m well, Mother. Really. It’s nothing like… that.” Another insufficient answer. Her eyes strayed to the door. Perhaps if she’d had a chance to speak with Jon before he’d taken himself off somewhere, if she knew where the two of them stood… she’d have had a better reply.
He’d promised to explain everything about his inheritance, but at one quelling glance from Regina, he’d left them together and sent Gran to entertain their guest. He’d even left it to Marie to fuss over cleaning Annabella’s cuts and scrapes.
“Regina, did you know your daughter is something of an excellent archer?”
“An archer?” Annabella’s mother raised an eyebrow. “She is?”
“Yes. Nearly as good as I am,” the dowager said, beaming.
Thank you, Gran. Annabella wasn’t ready to explain about Jon. Wasn’t yet ready to share him with her mother.
As if she’d summoned him with just her thoughts, he appeared in the parlor doorway. He’d cleaned up and changed his clothes. Why… he’d even had a shave!
Seeing him there, garbed in his best navy blue tailcoat with the gold buttons, his dark hair swept across his forehead, Annabella sighed. Her heart skipped a beat and ached for her to go to him.
“I’m very sorry to interrupt, ladies. But we have a caller. Mr. Delbert Stowe, who would like to speak to La— to Annabella.”
Annabella jumped when her mother let out a hiss.
“Did you say Delbert Stowe?” Regina asked through tight lips.
For the first time, Annabella noticed the man standing just behind Jon. “You!”
Jon pinned her with his intense stare, but he didn’t move out of the man’s way so he could enter the room. “Do you know this man, my dear?”
Did Mother just curse?
“I do!” Annabella nodded. “He’s the gentleman from the contest I asked you about. The one I thought had been watching me and finally spoke to me.”
The stranger stepped forward. “I do apologize if I frightened you, my lady. His grace, the Duke of Wyndham, sent me to inquire as to your safety. Unfortunately, I wasn’t the only one snooping about, and I didn’t want to draw undue attention. I tried to speak with Lord Seabrook here at Blackmoor Hall before the tournament but was… unable to wait for his audience.”
Regina shot to her feet. “And where exactly were you when my daughter was being kidnapped by Sheridan Dawes?” At the hatred and venom in her mother’s voice, Annabella nearly tumbled from the sofa.
“Mother?” she whispered as she rose. Annabella wasn’t sure what shocked her more, her mother’s total lack of propriety or the hatred she spewed toward a complete stranger.
Regina Markwythe, Duchess of Wyndham, never behaved as less than a lady. Not even when it was just the two of them. And here she was, acting outrageously in front of three virtual strangers. Shocked didn’t begin to convey the sensations exploding through Annabella.
Jon, who also seemed taken aback, glanced between her mother and the stranger. “I hardly think Mr. Stowe could have guessed at what Dawes was about, your grace. Were that the case, then I am more to blame for not taking proper precautions at my own home.”
Regina crossed her arms, fire burning in her eyes. “And there it is. Others still taking the blame for your actions, Mr. Stowe?” She flounced from the room without a backward glance.
Annabella stared after her mother. Should she go after her? She started to rise, but Gran waved her back and hurried after Regina.
“I’m sorry,” murmured Annabella, turning her attention to Mr. Stowe. “Do you and my mother know one another?”
“We’ve made an acquaintance,” he answered, meeting her eyes without elaborating.
“Please, have a seat.” Jon invited as though only just remembering his own manners. He gestured to one of the gray silk chairs across from Annabella.
“If you wouldn’t mind, Lady Seabrook,” began Mr. Stowe as he sat and crossed his legs, “I’ve just a few questions about Mr. Dawes.”
Jon busied himself at the sideboard with the decanter of port, aloof once again. As soon as she realized he truly was leaving her on her own, Annabella sighed and directed her attention to Mr. Stowe. “I’m not at all certain what I can tell you…”
~~~~
Jon’s hands still shook as he reset the crystal stopper into the decanter. If he saw Dawes again, he’d kill him for laying hands on Annabella. He closed his eyes, but the memory of the way she’d watched him shooting at her was still too strong. She’d literally trusted him with her life.
He’d been unable to trust her with the secret of his inheritance. An irony existed in there someplace, Jon was certain. Drawing a deep, fortifying breath, he picked up the two glasses of port and carried them over to where Stowe and Annabella sat deep in conversation.
Although he wanted desperately to sit next to Annabella and take her into his arms, he chose instead to sit in the chair opposite Stowe. The investigator accepted the glass of port with a murmur of thanks.
“When you found the banknotes, you had no idea they belonged to his grace?” Stowe sipped his wine, watching Annabella over the rim of the glass.
“I saw his name on some of them.” Annabella’s fingers worked at the black lace on her dress as she spoke.
Stowe nodded. “It has come to light that Mr. Dawes has been skimming funds from Wyndham Green for years. Probably since shortly after the old duke’s death. His grace had no idea.”
“Maybe he should have visited,” Annabella muttered under her breath. “Mother and I always felt Mark— my stepbrother was responsible for the dire straits in which we found ourselves.”
“Why did you bring the banknotes with you when you left Wyndham Green?” Stowe sipped his port as though on a social call. “Why not leave them there?”
Annabella stared hard at her hands, laced together in her lap. “I figured out the duke hadn’t put them in the wall, but it was obvious they belonged to him, so I didn’t feel I should leave them there, and then… certain matters arose…” She spared a fleeting glance for Jon but then returned her attention to Stowe. “…and… circumstances changed. I didn’t know any other way to keep them safe.”
Circumstances such as being rushed into marriage and bundled across the countryside. “Excuse me.” No longer able to endure the burning ache of sitting so near Annabella without touching her, holding her, and never letting her go, Jon abruptly set his port on the drum table and rose. “I’ve a matter to see to. I trust we may rely upon you to see that the Duke of Wyndham’s funds are returned to him.”
Without waiting for an answer, he stalked across the carpet and left Annabella to answer Stowe’s questions.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Restless, Annabella paced from the vanity to the window, then to the fire, over to the door that led to Jon’s bedchamber. She paused and laid her fingers against the cool wood. They’d never had the chance to speak about their affairs, and the words hung between them unsaid.
Would he come to her anyway? Even with things unsettled? Her skin began to tingle at the memory of his masterful touch — how was it possible to be so gentle and yet so exciting?
She dropped her hand and pushed the thoughts away. It wouldn’t do to think of him that way. Not until she and her husband had worked things out.
And that might not happen as long as her mother was in the home and behaving so dreadfully. What had happened to her? Had Regina thrown her venison and glazed carrots against the wall, Annabella would have been less shocked.
All through the meal, her mother had answered in curt words and clipped syllables. She did little more than push the fare around on her plate. That and consume no less than three glasses of wine in quick succession.
A chill rolled over Annabella, and she picked her way over the soft carpet back to the fire. Mother seldom drank more than one glass of wine with dinner. No, something was definitely amiss.
The hostility emanating from Regina most certainly had a focus. Delbert Stowe. Even Gran had sat in stunned silence, not uttering a word, when Mother snapped and asked Mr. Stowe if he could stop chewing so loudly. Annabella was quite certain that even as obscene as her own behavior had been during her first meal at Blackmoor Hall, it hadn’t been nearly as bad.
“The dowager probably thinks I learned my poor manners from my mother,” Annabella muttered, kicking at the edge of the hearth. Thank heavens Jon, ever the peacemaker, had requested a private meeting with Mr. Stowe that he claimed couldn’t wait, and the men had departed before the pudding was served.
A soft knock made her heart thump faster. Jon. “Come in.” The door opened slowly, and her spirits plummeted. “Mother. Is something wrong?”
Still garbed in the gray silk gown she’d worn to dinner, Regina closed the door and walked into the room with measured steps. “No, darling. I just needed to make sure you’re well.” A smiled played across her lips as she sat on the edge of the bed, but it didn’t reach her eyes. They were sad, faraway… and tears glistened in the green pools, threatening to spill any second.
Annabella sat next to her and squeezed her mother’s hand. “I’m fine. Really. I only have a scratch. No real harm done.”
Regina tilted her head. “I wasn’t speaking of Mr. Dawes.” A tear trickled down her cheek. “I’m referring to your forced marriage. I swore I’d never — that my daughter wouldn’t—” She averted her face as she wiped her tears.
She must be jesting. She’s upset because I was forced to marry? “Isn’t that why you were sending me to London?” Annabella winced at the coldness in her voice and softened her tone. “To find a husband?”
Regina jerked her head around. Anguish marred her beautiful face. “So you could find a husband of your choosing. A man you’d be happy with. I never wanted you to marry someone against your will.” Her words came out broken, filled with emotion.
Anger shot through Annabella and clenched around her middle like a vise. Her mother truly must have had the shortest memory in the world. Didn’t want to force me to marry someone against my will, indeed. What did she think threatening to make me marry Vicar Hamilton if I didn’t go to London was, if not forcing me to marry against my will? She opened her mouth to tell her mother just that. But a memory long forgotten crossed her mind. A memory of her father… his sadness. No. Not sadness…
“Your mother had no choice but to marry me, you see. I didn’t give her one, her father didn’t give her one. And… I suppose you could say fate stole her choice as well.”
She’d always thought the pain etched across Papa’s face had been sadness, and she had blamed her mother for it. But for some reason, he’d been consumed with guilt. Because he’d made Regina sad?
Her mother bowed her head and began crying softly. All those years, Annabella had resented her mother. Blamed Regina for the lost time with Papa. And Mother let me. Because she loves me enough to let me blame her rather than tarnish Papa’s memory.
Annabella scooted forward and wrapped her arms around her mother. “None of this was your doing. I deserve the prison I created with my childish behavior.”
Regina tightened her hold. “My darling Annabella. I shall never forgive myself.”
Annabella offered a weak smile. “At least Juliet got her prince. That’s worth any pain I’ve endured.”
“If only that were true. You don’t know, Annabella. You don’t know the misery and heartbreak of an unwanted marriage.”
Yes I do. I lived it with you and Papa. “I understand better than you think.” Agonizing pain gripped her chest, and she began to tremble. Was her marriage to Jon unwanted? Unplanned, yes. But had it truly been against her will? Worse still, would Jon come to feel about her the way Mother had about Papa because he’d been forced to marry her? Would they end up unhappy, living separate lives, hating each other? She couldn’t bear to spend her life in a loveless marriage like that of her parents. He’s never said he loves me.
“It’s not too late for you.” Regina dashed at her tears. “The good thing is, very few people are aware of your marriage. Grey has enough influence to see it quietly annulled.”
Annulled? Leave my husband?
Wasn’t that what she’d wanted? She’d been furious at Jon for letting her believe they were going to London, only for him to bring her to Coventry. And now it made sense. He had to prove he was married to collect his inheritance.
“…Juliet is worried about you as well. And I know you don’t want to miss her wedding. Please, darling, come with me to London. Let’s put all this behind us.”
A pang of sadness squeezed her heart. Would Jon now want to end their marriage? Want her to leave? Technically he’d fulfilled the requirements his grandfather had set out in his will, and so he didn’t have to stay married to her. In truth, she had no way of knowing if he wanted her as a wife.
And if I stay I’ll never know. He’s obligated to provide for me as his wife. “I do need to make amends with Juliet. It would serve me right if she never spoke to me again.” Perhaps distance would put things in perspective. Maybe Jon would be able to use his inheritance to start the shipping company he’d dreamed about.
“We need to travel to London posthaste.” Regina brushed at a nonexistent spot on her gown. “I’d like to leave first thing in the morning.”
I’m supposed to practice shooting from the tower with Gran. But she couldn’t let Juliet down. She’d been unfair to her dear friend. She had to make amends right away.
Annabella sighed. “I suppose that’s best.”
“Of course it is. This will all be but a memory before you know it. We’ll go home to Wyndham Green and forget this ever happened. That you ever had to marry against your will.”
“Very well, Mother.” Annabella released a sigh. She might leave, but she’d be leaving pieces of her heart behind. And she’d never forget any of it. Didn’t want to. “I owe it to Juliet.” I owe it to Jon to offer him his freedom.
Regina kissed her on the cheek. “I think we both need to get some rest. We have a long journey ahead of us.”
Annabella nodded.
“What’s this?” Regina placed her hand under Annabella’s chin and lifted her face. “You aren’t fretting about facing the duke, are you?”
The duke? Had Annabella not been so numb, she’d have laughed out loud. The duke was the last thing on her mind. Jon… “It’s been a long day, Mother. I’m just overtired. I’ll be fine once I get some sleep.”
Regina placed a soft kiss on Annabella’s forehead. “Sleep well, my darling.”
Annabella stared at the shadows the fire sent to play on the walls. A log cracked, spitting embers into the air. “Jon,” she whispered, wishing she dared call out to him and beg him to love her. Was she so unlovable that all she’d been good for was to gain his inheritance?
She touched his ring where it rested between her breasts. She should probably give it back to him.
~~~~
Jon eased his grip on the door latch and curled his fingers into his palm. Prison… the prison she’d created… That was it then. The end of things before they’d truly begun. So that was what loss felt like. The soul-searing pain that rippled through him left ice in its wake. Then… nothing. Why had he stood there eavesdropping on Annabella’s conversation with her mother? He should have stepped away from the door, not listened in.
How could he ask her to stay, to make their marriage work, when she only wanted to go home? When she considered marriage to him a prison?
He couldn’t. He never should have for
ced her hand in the first place. The devil of it was, he’d finally found the one woman he’d looked for his entire life — and she was the one woman in the world who couldn’t seem to tolerate marriage to him.
After the night before, he’d hoped…
Three soft taps on the door between their bedchambers interrupted the silence. Jon stiffened. Before he could even answer, the door was pushed open.
“Jon?”
Her hair fell like a curtain around her shoulders. Her white nightdress was nearly sheer against the soft orange light streaming in from her room. She looks like an angel… a beautiful, glowing angel.
Her face was shadowed — why had he not lit a lamp? — the dying fire provided too little illumination to see her expression. But the way she hesitated told him what was on her mind. Even if he hadn’t heard her answer to her mother’s pushing, he’d have known from her hesitation at his door.
He forced steadiness he didn’t feel into his words. “So… You’re leaving tomorrow, then.”
Her body jerked with the words as if each one was a bullet, and remorse for his chilly tone swamped him.
“It… seems best I do, yes.” She lowered her chin nearly to her chest and shuddered.
“Yes, the sooner affairs return to normal, the better.” He glanced at the brandy decanter on his sideboard, knowing he’d pay a visit to that later.
“Oh… yes… I suppose you’re right.” Her hands trembled as she moved them to the opening of her nightdress and drew out the ribbon around her neck. “I expect you’ll want this back, then.”
Her wedding ring. The air seemed to hang up in his lungs where his heart squeezed against them. “You’re still my wife… at least until—” Until you’re not. “You may find you have need of it.” He retreated a step. She was leaving by her choice. If he embraced her, however briefly, he’d go mad when it came time to let her go. “You should keep it.”
She inhaled sharply but then tucked the ring away. “Fair enough.”
