by Kerryn Reid
She ate little, fed the baby, and went to bed. What had he said, in Leeds, about friendship? If we can only find our way back to that, I will be very pleased to be your husband. That must be her goal. She must channel all the respect, the liking, the trust—all her gratitude for the sacrifices he’d made—into friendship. It should be enough. It should!
She heard a soft thump outside her door. Then another, and a little scrape, perhaps a shoe across the floorboards. A whisper emanated from a height where a child’s mouth might be, if she were sitting on the floor, with another whisper in reply. Barbara and Kate, who else could it be?
A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. In the morning she would ask them to show her the house.
Chapter 41
Lewis rode to the Wedburys’ the following morning under a high blue sky. The wind had done its work on the snow, blowing it almost clear in some spots to pile deep in others, forming smooth valleys edged by ridges sharp as knives. A perfect day for a ride with Jack.
It would be a short one. Even if Lewis were confident of Jack’s horsemanship, he owed Anna his time and attention. He’d been distracted yesterday, anxious to inspect that mildewed, moth-eaten carriage, and later overwhelmed by all the details involved in taking a bride.
She’d noticed—he saw the hurt in her eyes, though he’d tried not to. The best he could do was apologize and give her the kisses she seemed to want as much as he did. God knew he should be encouraging whatever passion she felt, not spurning it.
But Jack also wanted Lewis’s attention. He’d sent a note yesterday, oddly plaintive. Lewis owed him something too. There would still be most of the day for Anna.
It was not such a perfect day for a ride, after all. Cassie went with them, and things were fine. Heading home, though, Jack wanted to continue up onto the moors. Lewis vetoed the suggestion, turning Jack’s mood black. When Cassie tried arguing him out of it, he went flying up the drive, kicking at his mount all the way. He tore into the stable yard and came within an inch of running down a groom. That was unintentional. But the kick he aimed at Willy’s head was not. Before he could try again, Lewis got hold of his bridle and pulled the horse away. Jack threw himself from the saddle and stomped into the house.
Cassie stared after him in shock. “I thought he was over that stuff. He seemed to be better.”
“He is better, Cass,” Lewis had said. “Doesn’t mean he won’t have an incident every now and then.”
Was he right? He didn’t know. In any event, he had to cajole Cassie out of the blue-devils and describe the incident to Sir John and Lady Wedbury. All quite depressing.
When she was finished sighing over Jack, Lady Wedbury showed him the short stack of letters she’d written, dropping hints among her acquaintance about Gideon’s so-called flirtations. “You may be sure he shan’t get away with such behavior next season. He’ll be fortunate to be received anywhere.”
She had also fed some version of Anna’s “unusual situation” to the two local ladies nearest herself in importance. Wrackwater Bridge boasted both a viscount and an earl, but Viscount Broughton’s mother was an invalid and his sister still in the schoolroom, while Lord Ryndale’s household had gone a quarter century without a lady. Neither Mrs. Dusseau nor Elaine Maxwell hailed from the aristocracy; they had wealth and prominence, however. Though no date had been set, they had agreed to call on Anna at the vicarage. Their approval, added to the Wedburys’ and Redferns’, should establish her respectable standing whatever his father might say.
“Shall I ask your mother as well?” said Lady Wedbury. “I’m sure she would like to be included.”
Lewis gave a rude snort before he thought better of it. “Good lord, ma’am. She would gladly go to hell with the town’s three most illustrious ladies.”
“Dear Lewis. You’re too hard on her. Her life has not been the bed of roses you think it has.”
“No? I certainly haven’t seen her fighting it.”
Lady Wedbury grimaced and shook her head. “I wish she would.”
“Let Anna meet the other two without my mother sucking all the enjoyment out of the occasion. I want to be present when she meets Mother.”
By the time that was settled, it was noon. Free at last to see Anna.
When Lewis strode into the vicarage kitchen, Toby and Barbara came running and wrapped their arms around his legs. Once he’d greeted them, they returned to the table to play with their own little mounds of dough, while the cook formed the rest into bread. Their hands had left flour on his breeches.
Mrs. Redfern’s eyes danced as he brushed it off. “Did you wonder why I’m perpetually covered with drips of this and dollops of that?”
“I did not,” he answered with a grin. “You always look perfect to me.”
“Flatterer. You must be in a good mood. Don’t let my husband spoil it. He wants to see you.”
Young Kirby admitted him to the vicar’s office with a greeting and some large tome under his arm. “Thanks for the interruption, sir,” he muttered, rolling his eyes in his father’s direction. He shut the door on his way out.
Lewis chuckled and strolled forward to shake Redfern’s hand. “Your wife said you wanted to see me.”
“Yes. Have a seat.” He made some sort of notation on a sheet of paper. Setting it aside, he rested his elbows on the desk and gazed at Lewis over his steepled fingers.
“I told you I’d let you know what I hear about your father’s—ah—activities. I’m pleased to have heard so little, though the folks he’s most likely to complain to are the least likely to tell me.”
Leaning back in his chair, he went on. “I ran into Philip Dusseau at the club yesterday before dinner. He’d seen the announcement of your betrothal in the paper and congratulated your father, who grumbled his displeasure. Told Dusseau he shouldn’t talk, but he did, because the whole bloody town will know soon enough. His words, not Dusseau’s or mine. He went on to say that your bride had already given birth and no one could be sure you were the only man to have—er—screwed her.”
Lewis jumped up to pace. “Is there more?”
Redfern shook his head. “Dusseau suggested to him that I wouldn’t have taken her in if I had doubts. Your father maligned my intelligence, naturally, and Dusseau told him he should trust in yours.”
“Good of him.” Merely a platitude, no doubt. The man must be a dozen years older; what could he know of Lewis’s intelligence or lack thereof? “I’m sorry your name must be drawn into this.”
“It comes with the job,” Redfern said as they passed into the hall. Lewis crossed to the stairs but the vicar spoke again behind him.
“Why, Miss Spain. It’s good to see you up and about.”
Lewis spun around. Anna stood in the parlor doorway across from the office, tentative, one hand on the jamb.
“Thank you, sir.” Her lips turned up in a false smile, a company smile.
Lewis’s heart gave a lurch. “Did you come down by yourself? Is something wrong?”
“No, nothing. Kirby was kind enough to lend me his arm. He had a heavy book he seemed relieved to put down.” A more genuine smile for the vicar, and a guffaw in return as Redfern headed toward the kitchen.
“I was waiting,” she said, blushing. “I wanted to see you.”
“I hoped to be here hours ago, but Jack’s been difficult.” After a quick glance up the stairs to make sure no little eyes were spying on them, he pulled her into his arms. “I’m sorry I was so distant yesterday. I—”
“It’s all right. You’ve so much on your mind. I wish I could do something to help.”
“You take care of yourself and that little girl upstairs. For now, that’s your assigned task.”
He stayed for a couple of hours, first in the parlor and then upstairs, while various children pattered in and out. When it was time for Anna to feed the baby, he prepared to take his leave.
“Before I go, Anna—I’d like to bring my mother tomorrow. Do you feel up to it?”
; “Of course,” she said. She sounded enthusiastic enough, but he could see her feelings were mixed. As were his.
“We had quite an unprecedented conversation. She claims she’s eager to meet you. I’d sooner believe a cow can discuss philosophy, but we shall see.”
Anna had planned to use the parlor for her first meeting with Lewis’s mother. But they arrived earlier than anticipated and were already on their way upstairs when Nancy came to tell her. Anna was just pulling on her shoes as the door opened.
“We can’t stay long,” Lewis said. Was it a warning or a promise? Anna had heard nothing good from Lewis or Cassie, but she refused to yield blindly to their perceptions. Her relationship with this woman would influence the town’s acceptance, and her own happiness as well.
They shook hands, one Mrs. Aubrey to the next, and exchanged civil greetings. Anna saw brown hair the same shade as Lewis’s, graying at the temples. A puce silk gown richly trimmed with lace. A coating of cosmetics that looked as though it would crack if the woman showed any expression at all. And lifeless blue eyes that did not quite meet Anna’s own. Apart from the lace, there was nothing at all to differentiate her from a hundred other women.
Anna seated Mrs. Aubrey in the big chair that invited one into its comfortable depths, where she perched upright and tentative on the very edge. By the time they’d exchanged comments about the weather, Nancy was there with the tea tray. As Anna poured, Lewis distributed the cups and remained on his feet, leaving Anna to conduct the conversation.
“Are you from Wrackwater Bridge?” she asked his mother, attempting a welcoming tone like Mrs. Redfern’s that would put her guest at ease.
“No. We came here when Mr. Aubrey inherited Aubrey Hall.” The answer was barely adequate, her speech hesitant and stilted.
Anna gnawed on her cheek, hoping for something more—perhaps a date, or some indication how she’d felt about the change. But the silence went on too long.
“Where did you move from?”
“From Manchester. Do you know it?”
“No, though I fancy it has much in common with Bristol, where I grew up.”
There was no doubt Mrs. Aubrey felt the awkwardness too. In contrast to Anna’s mother, who chattered and laughed to cover such moments, Lewis’s mama seemed to hold her lips closed with her fingertips, as though she might say too much.
Anna tried again. “It was near dark when we drove in, and as yet I know only what I can see from my windows. Is it a friendly place?”
A nod. “My husband has been very happy here.”
Her husband! Anna looked to Lewis for support or sympathy but his eyes, narrow and hostile, remained on his mother. More questions in the same vein elicited similarly unhelpful replies. How hard it was to ask questions without sounding like an inquisitor!
The woman continued to evade direct eye contact while performing a keen review of Anna’s skin, hair, gown, shoes. What on earth did she find so enthralling? With three simple gowns in the wardrobe, Anna had no possible claim to fashion or sophistication.
The woman was rude. Yet there was something about her, something fragile, as though she’d lost her way. Anna knew what that felt like.
They heard Putnam’s door open and a series of coos and babbles flowed out.
“Oh! Your baby.” They were the first spontaneous words Mrs. Aubrey had uttered. She darted a glance at Lewis but must have deemed Anna more approachable. She pressed trembling fingers to her mouth for a moment and then whispered, “May I… Could I see her?”
“Of course you may.” Anna jumped up, eager to escape however briefly. Such an odd woman.
But she wanted to see the baby, and babies were surely the embodiment of hope.
Lewis moved Anna’s chair close by his mother and took up his stance behind them. Mrs. Aubrey scooted forward for a better view. She let out another “Ohhh” that seemed to last forever, her face working to suppress tears. Or perhaps it was laughter, Anna couldn’t tell. But it was definitely something, some small piece of the woman hidden inside that untouchable shell.
“She’s so tiny.” Her fingers clutched her skirts at the knee, crushing the silk. Anna pulled aside the blanket to free her daughter’s skinny arms. They jerked forward, stiff and clumsy, yet the hands so delicate, fingers curling and straightening, held out in front of her like an inept conductor at a concert.
“Here,” Anna said. “You hold her.”
“No, I… I mustn’t,” said Mrs. Aubrey.
Lewis gave a huff of impatience. “You’re allowed to touch her, Mother. She’s your granddaughter.”
Anna winced. Yes, her granddaughter—by the wrong son. Please heaven she would never know the truth.
When Anna held the infant toward her, her arms formed an awkward cradle to receive the wrapped package. Mrs. Aubrey sat very still, her expression pinched and slightly averted.
Anna recognized that expression. It was fear. Fear of falling in love with something fleeting, like a butterfly or a particular cloud in the sky. Or a child one must leave behind. Hers must have been the same two short weeks ago.
How differently she felt today—and she owed that to Lewis.
She tipped her head and met his implacable gaze. Not for her, the merciless set of his jaw, but for his mama holding that baby so tentatively. As though he thought she might suddenly hurl her to the floor or stick her with a pin. Anna frowned and shook her head at him, but his expression did not change.
When she looked again at his mother, her breath caught in her throat. Woman and infant both focused in awe on the bond formed by tiny fingers wrapped around an adult thumb. So serious. So like Lewis.
Mrs. Aubrey glanced up, her eyes wet. “I’d forgotten.”
“You’ll have plenty of opportunity to remind yourself,” Lewis said. “But we must go. It’s nearly three o’clock.”
The fear returned in an instant, closed away behind cold eyes and awkward manners. Mrs. Aubrey all but shoved the child at Anna and rose. Anna had hardly time to say, “I hope you’ll come again,” before they were out the door.
Chapter 42
The following day marked the end of a year more dreadful than any Anna could have imagined for herself. She dined downstairs for the first time, and Lewis came. Truly a celebration.
She had read with Kate and Barbara during the afternoon, and helped with the table decoration, and by the time the commotion of a family dinner was over, her clearest thought was of the pillow waiting for her upstairs.
The adults lingered after the children left the table, discussing the men’s upcoming trip to York and the wedding itself, less than four weeks away. Not the wedding she had dreamed of—she’d forsaken that with her misplaced fascination with a rake—but a better one. Or so she hoped.
Mrs. Redfern laid a hand on Anna’s cold one. “I’ll be inviting Mr. and Mrs. Aubrey here to the vicarage after church one of these Sundays. Hopefully, it won’t be so intimidating, now that you’ve met your new mama.”
It wasn’t quite a question, but Anna must make some answer. “It was a bit awkward, but hardly intimidating. She seemed captivated by the baby—I would guess she’s not had much to do with infants.” She turned to address Lewis. “I mean, not since you and… Not since her own were small.”
“Ha,” Lewis said. “No need to amend your statement, my dear. She had nothing to do with her own, either. At least, not with me.” That caustic comment brought their festive evening to an end.
Anna and Lewis had had no opportunity to discuss his mother’s visit, but now Anna must call up some vestige of intelligence from her sleep-fuddled brain. Because she had something to say.
Upstairs in her room, she pulled him down beside her in the big chair and took his hand between hers.
“It was unkind to disparage your mama at the dinner table.” His body tensed as she spoke, and his voice was bitter.
“You’re too soft-hearted. Don’t be fooled by whatever humbug she’s perpetrating.”
“It doesn’t l
ook like—er—humbug to me. I think she’s afraid.”
He pulled his hand away and stood. “Afraid of what, for pity’s sake? She and my father have the puffed up little life they wanted. There’s no room in it for anyone else but Gideon. Certainly not for me, or you, or the child. Whatever family portrait your imagination is conjuring, burn it. If it weren’t necessary, I would never have brought her.”
Oh dear, what a complicated mess. Anna had seen longing on both sides yesterday, though both did their best to hide it—Lewis behind hostility, his mother behind a rigid, impenetrable wall. If one tiny baby could break down those barriers, then perhaps, with time…
Anna let it go. He knew his mother far better than she did—she was in no position to question his judgment. At least, not yet. Their friendship was too fragile, and too precious.
Such a shame to end the night on a sour note. Next year, God willing, they would be happily married, and if Lewis wanted to kiss her at midnight, well, maybe she could stay awake that long.
Lewis and Putnam had decreed that she must stay quiet and indoors for another two weeks. Anna could not imagine Mrs. Redfern curtailing her activities for one week after childbirth, much less a month, but she bowed to their wishes. They did not say she must be idle.
Lewis rode or drove to York, and Otley, and places she’d never heard of and couldn’t remember, searching for carriages and all the other things they would need but could not afford to buy new. Anna spent time with Toby and the girls. She sat with Putnam and sewed baby clothes, though her own need was just as dire. Fortunately, between almost-daily visits from Cassie and one from Mrs. Aubrey, the modiste also came to call. They did nothing but take her measurements and talk about Anna’s taste in colors and styles, but it was a beginning.
The following afternoon, a trunk arrived. Lewis had walked in not ten minutes earlier, looking smug. He’d been a bit distant after their disagreement New Year’s Eve, but had quickly apologized for it. They were friends again.
