by Kerryn Reid
He had no need of his pocket watch. A tall clock just across the room chimed ten.
Half an hour Lewis had waited. Should he take another turn around the room? Maybe he had missed her.
You sod. Stay put. You have the best possible view of the door. You can’t miss her, assuming she shows up at all.
He heard each tick of the clock, told himself not to look. Surely he must have missed the first-quarter chime…
No. It was only seven minutes past.
Sweat prickled his skin, though the room was not warm. The door opened again as someone left.
Ten minutes past ten. Another whoosh of cold air as the door was pushed open from the landing.
An older woman came in, short and thick. She glanced around, held his gaze for a flicker of a second as if she recognized him. As if she’d been expecting him. Had he seen her before? He wasn’t sure.
She held the door for someone else to pass through…
There she was. Dear God. What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t even breathe.
With no memory of getting there, he was on his feet. His chair knocked against the bookcase behind him. He stood still, staring at Anna like a starving man thrilling to the sight of a feast.
She stood at the desk returning her books, facing away from him. She’d pushed back her hood, but a cap hid her hair. If he hadn’t known better, he might have thought her merely fat, wrapped up in that gray woolen cloak. The garment was wet to a depth of several inches. Had she walked through all that ice? Someone should be taking better care of her.
He took a step toward her and felt a bruising pain in his leg as he bumped the heavy round table. A gentleman on the opposite side said, “Hey! Watch what you’re about!” Lewis saw him bend down to retrieve something from the floor, but he had no sympathy to spare.
The clerk’s attention shifted to the commotion Lewis had caused. Brows drawn together in censure, he left the desk and marched forward, spouting some ill-tempered drivel. Lewis hardly noticed. Because Anna turned, her frowning gaze following the clerk on his path across the room.
His heart made the same sort of thunk the chair had made. He sucked in a breath and couldn’t seem to let it out again. Her cheeks were red from the Yorkshire cold but they were too thin—seeing her face, there was no question of her being fat. Her eyes, showing no trace of blue amid the gray, had shadows beneath and ghosts within.
He’d forgotten how lovely she was—yet so, so vulnerable. Rage sizzled inside him. He did not blame Gideon for wanting her, but for the rest… Oh yes, for the rest he most certainly did. She might have gone to him willingly, but not wantonly. Sure as hell she did not deserve such misery.
Anna’s companion drew his attention, her hands fluttering. Sending him a message? Just a servant, yet clearly she had been expecting him, while Anna had not. It was her note, her plan.
What the devil did she mean by it? And what sort of signal was she sending now, with her grimaces and her gestures?
Anna’s unarmored gaze met his and time stopped.
Anna reached for Putnam’s arm but missed. The hard edge of the desk bit into the small of her back. She caught hold of the wood to keep herself upright.
She heard Putnam’s voice, the words indistinguishable through the ringing in her ears. Mist clouded her vision like fog over the Bristol rooftops. No, I will not faint in front of all these people! Murmurs of curiosity and criticism, like London. Lewis had been there, too, deflecting the gossip, forcing her to smile.
Why was he here? If he had to visit this particular library, why, oh why must he choose this particular time, on this particular day? She shivered and could not stop.
He was at her side—so strange, after all this time. His arm came over her shoulder, crossing to where her waist should have been on the opposite side, pulling her close, supporting her with his strength. Oh, she longed to lean into him, hang on tight, cry and cry until the oceans overflowed and swallowed everything.
“Hush now,” he whispered. “It’s all right, Anna.” The sound entered her ear like liquid, running warm and cold at the same time, down to her heart and beyond.
Anna summoned one of those smiles he’d taught her and he smiled in return, gentle and sad. “Good girl,” he said, in the same tone he’d used to calm the nervous horses outside Green Park. Were those tears in his eyes?
His voice grew sharp, authoritative. Lewis drew away, leaving her cheek cold where his breath had been. A question, something about a private room. She let him lead her where the desk clerk directed.
He seemed changed. Strong and sure, with none of the awkwardness he’d shown in London.
Behind them, Putnam asked someone for a glass of water. They passed into a workroom furnished with two hard chairs and a big table piled with books. More books lined the shelves along the walls. Lewis settled her in one of the chairs, one hand warm on her shoulder.
The clerk stood in the doorway wringing his hands. “Shall I send someone for a doctor, sir? What should I do? Can I get her something?”
His voice quivered with nerves. He’s probably afraid I’ll commit childbirth here in his library.
“No,” Lewis replied. “It’s only the surprise of seeing me. I’ve been searching for my sister all over England. All she needs is a few minutes to collect herself. Though a drop of brandy wouldn’t come amiss… No? Then you may leave us.”
When the door had closed, Lewis pulled the second chair close to hers. He sat facing her, their knees almost touching. She wished they did—she needed his warmth, his strength, longed to lay all her problems in his hands. As if he could solve them.
At the same time, she shied away from his scrutiny. The gas lamp shone far too bright. He must see all the lines, the fear, the sleeplessness…
“Your maid is getting some water. Is there anything else you need, Miss Spain? I shouldn’t have assumed—”
“Stanley.”
He blinked in confusion. “I beg your pardon?”
“It’s the name I’m using. Stanley. Mrs. Stanley.”
“Of course.” He nodded.
She looked down at her lap, pulling the cloak tightly closed over the drab gown, over her swollen belly. Where could they possibly go from here? So much to say, all of it impossible.
“Anna, I—”
“Sir John told you.” She heard the brittle accusation in her voice as she cut him off.
“His hand was forced. Jack let something slip. I had to know the rest.”
Lewis leaned forward, peering into her downturned face. “But the information I need, Sir John couldn’t give me.”
“And you’ll not get it from me.” Anna pressed her lips tight and sat as straight as she could, trying to appear dignified. Another impossibility.
She wanted to stand right up and walk out of the room, but he was too close. Her belly would hit him in the head. Maybe knock him insensible, and then she could escape. If she’d seen such an image in a cartoon by Gillray or Cruikshank, she would have laughed.
If she fainted on her way out the door, Putnam would arrive and find them both unconscious on the floor.
That should have been funny too. Anna fought down hysteria.
“Why are you here? This is the first time in a week I’ve left the house, and here you are.” I sound like a pouting child.
He gave a glimmer of a smile, just a spark in his eyes and a momentary quirk of the lips. “I’d like to say it’s fate. The truth is, I received a note this morning.”
“A note? From whom?” Now she sounded like a fishwife.
He drew a piece of paper from inside his coat. “Don’t know, but I’m thinking your maid.”
“Putnam?” Anna snatched the note from his hand.
Yes, Putnam, may the devil fly away with her! Putnam had offered herself as Anna’s combined abigail, nurse, and companion, though she must leave her comfortable position as Mama’s dresser. Anna had thought it meant she cared, thought she’d found someone she could trust.
Wh
at did Putnam hope to achieve? Could she possibly think Anna was worth the sacrifice of Lewis’s happiness, his whole life? It was sweet of her, but deluded beyond all belief. Anna was not worth a farthing.
A sound Anna had never heard came out of her own mouth, something between a bark and a sob. Perhaps she was going mad. Just this small taste of Lewis’s attention and she started falling apart.
Putnam came in carrying a glass of water. She hesitated at the blistering look Anna fixed on her, glanced down at the note in Anna’s trembling hands.
“How could you?” Anna’s voice trembled too.
Putnam said nothing, just watched her own feet as she walked to Anna’s side. Anna considered slapping the glass out of her hand, but she was too tired. Tired of the drama, the anxiety, the wishing that everything was different. Would her heart ever be light again? Could she ever smile because she was happy to see someone, laugh because something was funny? Dance in joy? Her imagination wouldn’t reach that far.
She slumped in the chair, sipped some water, even took a sniff from the vinaigrette Putnam offered. Not because she needed it, but because it was easier than refusing. She felt Lewis watching her.
The vinegar made her sneeze. He pressed a handkerchief into her hand and she blew her nose as hard as she could. Such a small act of rebellion. Since she no longer qualified as a lady, why should she worry about good manners?
He pushed back his chair and stood. “I thank you for your note, Putnam, though Miss… Mrs. Stanley feels differently. I don’t know how you found me, but—”
“I saw you at St. Peter’s last night and followed you to your inn, sir.”
“That was you?” He moved a few books around on the table, seemingly at random. “I gather you walked here? Have you no carriage?”
Anna forestalled Putnam’s response. “It’s only a matter of two blocks.” No reason he needed to know the depths of their poverty.
He looked down on her from what seemed an immense height. “You’ll be driving back. It’s insane to be walking on the ice in your condition.”
She gaped at him in astonishment. So imperious, not like him at all.
“And besides,” said the Lewis she knew, squatting beside her chair and reaching up to push a stray tendril of hair off her forehead. “You nearly fainted not ten minutes ago.”
Tears stung again behind her eyes. Her life had narrowed to a horrible dance between grief, rage, and terror. She’d built a wall and locked herself behind it with those fearsome partners.
There was no room for kindness. Kindness would kill her.
Chapter 27
Lewis left the two women and went to hail a hackney. He could have sent Putnam, but he needed a few minutes alone to catch his breath. To reflect on what had just happened.
What in God’s precious name had he done? He’d fallen in love with her. You stupid bloody sod.
She had put herself beyond his touch almost before he met her, ruined any chance they might have had by ruining herself. Yet despite the evidence of that fact staring him in the face, when he saw her haunted, unhappy face… When her somber, unsuspecting eyes widened in recognition, then glazed over with shock… And worst of all, when she pulled out that brave, wavering smile from someplace he couldn’t imagine… Yes, that was when it happened.
It was fake, he knew that. But he had taught her that smile, and she remembered. Had wanted him to know she remembered.
He was lost, for once and forever, for good or for ill.
He had to traipse nearly back to Briggate before he found a hackney. By the time they stopped in front of the library, Lewis half expected to find Anna gone, lost again in the maze of overcrowded streets. He still didn’t know where she was staying, though he could narrow it down. She’d said two blocks, assuming she was telling the truth. Now that he knew what name she was using, and had an ally in Putnam, he could find her.
If she’d run off, wouldn’t that be a good thing? How much effort should he expend helping someone who didn’t want his help? His father would think him utterly daft for trying at all. Which only increased Lewis’s determination to do so.
He took the stairs two at a time and burst through the library doors, missing an elderly woman by inches. His apology hung in the air as he sketched a bow, turned on his heel, and rushed to the office.
A hinge creaked as he pushed the door wide. Both women gaped at him, then Putnam sent Anna a smug look that said I told you so.
“The hackney’s waiting. I’m sorry it took so long.”
“’Tis no problem at all, Mr. Aubrey,” Putnam said. “You will come and join us for tea, won’t you?”
Anna, her cheeks flaming, said, “Putnam!” The maid, issuing invitations over her mistress’s objections? Well, he wasn’t about to refuse. They needed someplace private to talk.
“Now, Mrs. Stanley, it’s only polite. Come, we mustn’t keep the horses waiting. Give her your arm, Mr. Aubrey…”
Putnam rattled on, more like a garrulous aunt than a maidservant. Or like Maggs calming his patient.
Lewis reached out a hand. It might have been a snake, the way Anna stared at it, but she took hold and he pulled her upright. Before she could withdraw, he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and followed Putnam from the room.
No doubt she chafed at his intrusion. He might be a cur for pushing her, but he wouldn’t be leaving until he had the confirmations he’d come for.
First, that Gideon was the father of her child.
Second, whether he had forced or seduced her.
Third, and most important of all, that she was safe. Safe from slipping on the ice, safely delivered, and safe at home with her parents. He would spend every penny he had, every ounce of energy, every minute of his time to make sure she was safe. He would do it as unobtrusively as possible, and still she would resent him for it. But do it he would.
The short ride went quietly. Once Lewis overruled Putnam’s intention to take the rear-facing seat, her stream of chit-chat faded to an occasional comment about something outside. In between, she chewed on her lower lip as though nervous. Maybe that explained her runaway tongue as well. Anna said nothing at all. Her hood shielded most of her face.
They drove to Briggate and crossed into Kirkgate before turning up Vicar Lane. There, tucked into an alley a stone’s throw from the vicar’s garden wall, the driver stopped.
Three stories of old brick in need of new mortar, paint peeling from the wooden trim work, windows dirty and several of them cracked. Either the nightsoil men hadn’t done their job here or the alley’s residents had been very busy this morning making more. Still, it was a damned sight better than some of those warrens off Briggate.
In the grubby stairwell it was more of the same, but without the benefit of freezing temperatures to keep the smells at bay. Mutton grease misted the air, battling for supremacy with the acrid smell of urine.
Putnam led the way. Lewis could offer Anna no assistance, the stairs were too narrow. The best he could do was follow her up the well-worn treads and hope to catch her if she fell. She made slow progress, hauling her bulk up each step. The banister wobbled—would it hold?
More stairs led up to the next floor and a dark, narrow corridor wound left and around a corner, but Putnam awaited them in one of the doorways off the landing. She closed the door as they passed through it, shutting off most of the odor.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Anna said, without a glance in his direction. Then, “Come please, Putnam,” before disappearing through another door. Did she think she could avoid the coming interview? For all that he pitied her, he must have his answers.
Putnam headed first for the ludicrously inadequate fireplace, added some coal and stirred it with the poker. She swung the iron arm over the fire and came to his side. Her teeth were busy at her lower lip again.
“She’ll need a few minutes to tidy up. We’re in her black books at the moment, but I’ll bring her up to scratch, I promise. I’ll be back directly and get you that tea.
” She followed her mistress, closing the door behind her.
Left alone, there was little enough to occupy him. Lord, how shabby! If this was the parlor, the bedchambers must be mere closets. As humdrum a place as he could imagine. At least someone kept it tidy, the floor swept clean.
Lewis wandered to the single narrow window overlooking the alley. The brick wall opposite stood barely six feet away, with Vicar Lane off to the left. Even on this sunny day the light was poor. A plain wooden chair had been placed to make the most of what there was, but under cloudy skies it would be nigh impossible to read or sew. Nevertheless, a book stood upright on the sill, leaning against the glass. Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage.
Perhaps ten minutes passed. Steam rose from the kettle. A child cried coming up the stairs, reached its maximum volume on the landing, and continued up to the floor above. A scrawny mongrel trapped a rat behind some crates in the alley. Lewis watched it nose around, pawing at the debris and barking periodically. Then it lost the scent. It cast about aimlessly, across the alley and back again. Giving up, it plodded out into the street and disappeared.
Poor fellow. A fruitless search, rather like his own. He had found Anna. But if she was determined to fight him, there was little he could do for her.
Anna sat quietly while Putnam pulled off the matron’s cap she wore in her role as Mrs. Stanley. Not that it made her feel matronly, but it served well enough for the clerks at the library, the greengrocer, the Rose and Crown.
She had created an entire history for Mrs. Stanley during the long drive north to Leeds. She too was named Anna, and she too would shortly give birth to a fatherless child. Otherwise they had little in common.
Mrs. Stanley’s husband had been a sailor, buried in the cold waters of the Atlantic on a return voyage from Charleston. A serious man but capable of impetuous nonsense and affection. Despite the long separations, he’d been unerringly faithful. Anna knew it because…well, because she had created him. She called him Lochinvar because he had risked his life for love, sailing the ocean to support them both. Most important of all, she knew no real man to sully the name.
