by Delia Parr
Instead, her charming, sweet-talking husband had used the money to travel to Indiana for a quick and quiet divorce and to fund a whirlwind courtship with the heiress he eventually wed. Eric returned to Four Corners nineteen months after he left, on the very same day she buried her mother. After the other mourners had left the graveside, he’d handed her a copy of their divorce papers.
It suddenly occurred to Annabelle that she had already spent more time with Harrison than she had spent with Eric, but she doubted their marriage would be legal for more than another month or so.
“How’s that look?” Irene asked, bringing Annabelle back from the past to the present.
“Perfect,” Annabelle pronounced. “Want to try again or one more new letter—”
“Make the next letter for me, but be quick,” Irene said with a chuckle as she cleared the slate. “I need you to show me how to make those molasses cookies you mentioned, and you need your breakfast.”
Once Annabelle had written the letters H and h, she returned the chalk to Irene. “H is for Harrison and hungry,” she said, choosing the most obvious examples that popped into her head.
Irene traced over the letters. “H is also for heart. Harrison’s heart, which is so hungry for love, and your heart, which is chock full of love to give him.”
Annabelle blinked back tears, quite certain that Irene was wrong again. Most of the love she had or thought she had, in hindsight, she had wasted on the wrong man. And she did not believe she had either the heart or the gumption to give what little she had left to a man who definitely did not want it.
Annabelle knew that getting dressed to attend her first formal event would take hours, but it took even longer because she and Harrison had to take turns using the sleeping room.
For reasons only the two of them understood, she bathed in the morning while he made arrangements with Graham to drive them to the ball later that night. He bathed right after dinner and dressed, while she went over the menu for Christmas dinner that Irene insisted on making, even though the holiday was two weeks away. Finally, while Harrison enjoyed a light supper, she skipped eating altogether and used the time to dress with Lotte’s help.
She dismissed the young woman once she was ready to fix her hair. When she caught her reflection in the mirror as she approached the dressing table, she had to blink several times before she could accept the idea that the image before her was not an illusion. The pale green silk gown rustled as she walked and fairly glimmered with a life of its own. The bodice scooped lower than she was accustomed to wearing, leaving the delicate lace trim to lay a few inches below her collarbone. Beneath a wide band of lace just below her breasts, her skirt fell in shimmering waves to the top of her matching slippers, and more lace cuffed the wide sleeves that ended at her wrists.
When she raised her hand to finger the opal pendant hanging from a slender gold chain, which Harrison had lent to her this evening from the collection of jewelry his mother had worn, she caught sight of the braided ring on her finger and quickly replaced it with the ring Harrison had chosen for her to wear when they were going out socially.
Sighing with relief that she had remembered to change rings, she was also anxious not to keep Harrison waiting. After she studied her face to make certain all hint of her bruise had disappeared, she spent the next ten minutes trying to fix her hair into a thick braid she hoped to twist into a crown on the top of her head. But she soon gave up because her sleeves kept getting in the way. “Lotte was right. I should have fixed my hair first,” she grumbled.
Annabelle brightened the moment she remembered the fancier snoods that Mrs. Lynch’s daughter had made for her. She opened the bottom drawer in the dressing table where she had stored them away and found the snoods easily enough. But her heart began to race as she sorted through them, because she could not remember which gowns she had chosen for them to match. When she reached the very last one, she smiled. Made of fine delicate netting the precise color of her hair, the snood was decorated with tiny pale green sequins that caught the light and sparkled the moment she lifted it out of the drawer.
After refreshing the center part, she brushed her wavy hair and set the brush aside. She concentrated hard to place the snood properly and eased her hair into the delicate netting to avoid tearing it, exactly how Mrs. Lynch had shown her. She was rewarded for her patience on the first try.
Now that she was finished, she studied her image once again, but before she had a chance to consider whether or not she should wear her hair this daringly different to the ball, a knock at the door interrupted her.
“Miss Annabelle? Mr. Harrison said I should tell you to please hurry,” Lotte said. “He’s waiting for you downstairs. He says it’s time to leave.”
“That settles the matter of what to do about my hair. Nothing,” she whispered and turned to face the door. “Tell Mr. Harrison I’m coming in just a moment.” She grabbed a new evening cape trimmed with fur that she had never worn before. Though she was tempted to don the cape and put the hood up, she decided it was not worth taking the risk of disturbing the snood and left the room carrying the cape instead.
As she hurried down the hallway, she hoped Harrison would be pleased with how she looked, but she was more worried about keeping her promise to act properly. Annabelle paused at the top of the staircase to whisper a quick prayer to ask for His help tonight before she took hold of the balustrade and started down the steps.
Harrison paced the length of the narrow foyer and checked the time on his grandfather’s pocket watch, which he had taken to using since he had lost his own to those thieves. Concerned that they were going to be more than fashionably late, he slipped it back into his pocket. He reclosed the heavy coat he was wearing over his formal attire and wiped the sweat beaded on his forehead. If Annabelle did not come downstairs soon, he was afraid he would melt into one big puddle that Irene would complain about having to clean up.
He headed straight for the staircase, ready to charge upstairs to get her, but rocked back on his heels the moment he saw her descending. He would have thought she was floating if he had not seen her whitened knuckles as she held on to the balustrade.
Without hesitation, his heart leaped and pounded against the wall of his chest, completely overwhelming his misgivings about possibly seeing Vienna Biddle tonight and his concerns that Annabelle would be able to comport herself as well as the wife of Harrison Graymoor would be expected to do.
Most men would agree that Annabelle was more than easy on the eyes. Some men might even say she was beautiful, but he could only describe her tonight as the most stunning woman he had ever seen.
Unlike the other women he was acquainted with, Annabelle carried her beauty sweetly and demurely. She appeared to be completely unaware that she was a vision of loveliness that any man would be hard pressed to resist, or that she inspired him with an uncommon urge to be her protector.
He did not know what she had done to her hair to make it look as if she had captured miniature snowflakes, bathed them with moonlight, and miraculously kept them from melting, but he found it mesmerizing.
In all truth, Annabelle’s innocent beauty far surpassed the elegant gown she wore. Her cheeks were flushed rosy pink, the same shade as her lips, and he could not help staring at her luminous, gorgeous eyes that met his gaze and held him captive until she reached the bottom step and waited for some sign of his approval.
Alarmed by his reaction to her and mindful of his vow to keep his heart safe, he swallowed the lump in his throat. Smiling, he took her hand and raised it to his lips. “You’re breathtaking,” he whispered, catching just a hint of the scent of summer roses. Rewarded with a blush that deepened the color of her cheeks, he decided he was entitled to one night, just one that he could spend with this woman when he would not have to dwell on the past or dread the future.
He flexed his left wrist and the scar tightened. This night he claimed as the one special night they would share with each other which would erase the difficult c
ircumstances that had brought them together . . . before they faced the coming scandal of their divorce.
Chapter Fifteen
A ballroom that seemed endless. Candles by the hundreds that glittered throughout the ballroom. Freshly cut evergreens decorated with gold and silver bows that scented the air. Orchestra music that gentled the chatter. And people! More people than Annabelle had ever seen assembled indoors all at the same time.
With her senses reeling and her heart barely able to keep a steady rhythm, Annabelle held on to her only lifeline: her husband’s arm. She was so intimidated by the ostentatious display of wealth, she was sorely tempted to ask him to take her back to Graymoor Gardens, where she could spend a quiet evening. Since that option was clearly out of the question, she kept a tight hold on the gumption she would need to survive this ball without embarrassing her husband. She also whispered a quick prayer that her empty stomach would not growl and embarrass her, too.
As they approached several couples waiting to speak to their host and hostess, who stood just inside the ballroom entrance to greet the city’s elites who had been invited, Harrison bent his head low. “Don’t forget. You just have to remember one thing,” he whispered.
“I’m trying to remember so many things you told me, I’m afraid you need to be more specific,” she whispered back as she tried to sort through all the additional advice he had given her while riding here in the coach.
“Everyone here is anxious to make a good impression on you.”
Highly doubtful that Miss Vienna Biddle was one of them, she moistened her lips. She almost wished he had not mentioned the woman he had been so attentive to before leaving several months ago. But he had, which only made her more apprehensive about attending the affair, despite the fact that he had assured her he would not leave her side.
Instinctively, she tightened her hold on his arm, and he glanced down at her with tenderness and gave her a smile that warmed her straight down to her toes. “You’re the most intriguing, beautiful woman here,” he murmured. “Remember that, too.”
His gaze was so intense and his words so seductive that her heart fairly leaped into a fairy tale where Harrison was a handsome prince who was desperately in love with her. No man had ever looked at her the way he did right now or made her believe she was precious and truly treasured. Not even Eric, who in hindsight had paid more attention to her elderly mother than he had to her, for reasons that had only become obvious when it was too late for her to realize he had never loved her at all.
Struggling to breathe, she reminded herself that Harrison had probably spoken those very same words to every woman he singled out to receive his attentions. But her heart refused to listen, and she held on to the notion that just for tonight, she might pretend he had saved them just for her.
The last couple speaking to Edward Anderson and his wife, Martha, stepped away just as Harrison and Annabelle approached, giving Annabelle her first view of the couple. With light gray hair and deeply wrinkled features, they both appeared to be in their seventies. Reed thin, they reminded her of a pair of scarecrows, although she had never seen anyone dressed as elegantly or wearing gaudy jewels like the ones Martha Anderson wore around her neck and both of her wrists.
Harrison formally introduced the couple to her with a look of pride on his face she had never seen before.
“So you’re the pretty little lady who finally snatched up this young rake,” Mr. Anderson teased.
His wife nudged him with her elbow. “Just how do you expect poor Annabelle to respond to that?” she admonished. “What my husband meant to say is that we’ve all been waiting a very long time for Harrison to settle down with a wife and start a family. Philadelphia just wouldn’t be the same without a Graymoor. Even though others had quite given up on him, I was confident that all he needed to do was to meet the right woman to make him realize he had a responsibility to continue his family line,” she stated, broaching a topic Annabelle thought would never be discussed in polite conversation.
With a blush traveling up from the soles of her feet to her cheeks, she glanced at her husband while the woman congratulated him for making such a fine choice, along with the admonishment that now that he was married, he might find more time to spend on the philanthropic ventures his father and grandfather had started instead of being self-indulgent. Although Annabelle knew he could not be pleased by the woman’s words, he never lost his smile or the dimples that were planted in the middle of his cheeks.
She waited until they were a good distance away before expressing her concerns. “Will everyone here feel so inclined to express their opinions about such private matters?” she asked.
He chuckled. “No. The Andersons are the exception to the rule.”
“You might have warned me,” she quipped. “Why are they the exception?”
“Status as the head of the only family in the city who can claim any ties to William Penn himself, or the greatest wealth of any family in the city, or old age. Each one gives them the privilege to say exactly what they think. Take your pick,” he teased as he ushered her into the ballroom. There he introduced her to so many people her head was spinning and her cheeks were sore from smiling so much. She also had to answer more than a few questions about the snood she was wearing, although most of them came from young women closer to her own age.
After he got them both some liquid refreshment, he guided her to the edge of the dance floor, which was so crowded, all she could see was a blur of expensive fabrics and exquisite, sparkling jewelry. Her mouth went dry, as if she’d had nothing to drink at all, and she caught her bottom lip. “Are you certain you want to dance?”
He pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. “I most definitely do want to dance and only with you,” he whispered and whisked her into his arms and onto the dance floor.
The orchestra, which was hidden from her view by the throng of dancing couples, was playing a slow, sensuous melody. She stumbled a bit at first, but only because the light pressure of his hand on her back sent troubling sensations racing up the length of her spine. But it was his simmering gaze as he looked down at her while they danced that made her heart fairly tremble.
She was grateful that the dance floor was far too crowded for anyone to notice that she was not as light on her feet as she should be, or that she stumbled time and time again.
He let go of her hand for just a moment to tilt up her chin. “Don’t look down at your feet. Look at me and feel the music.” He captured her gaze and held it.
Mesmerized, his gaze seduced her, even more than the haunting melody that filled the air as they swirled around the dance floor. Finding his gaze too intense, she dropped hers to the middle of his chest, which inspired memories of the night she had spent sleeping in the stagecoach, her head cushioned by his shoulder, the comfort she had found in his arms.
She glanced away quickly and noticed that the other couples who had been dancing had moved off to stand in a circle around them, leaving Harrison and her as the only couple left dancing. She instantly lost the rhythm of the music. “Th-they’re all watching us,” she whispered, close to panic.
He increased the pressure at her back, tightened his hold on her hand, and effortlessly eased her back into the music. “They’re not watching us at all. They’re watching you and wondering why such a beautiful woman would choose an unredeemable scoundrel like me to marry when she could have her pick of any man she desired,” he countered, just as the music ended.
“Then they would be wrong. They just think you’re a scoundrel, and you’ve let them convince you they’re right,” she said impulsively before he released her.
Judging by the perpetual smile he never lost, her words had been drowned out by the rush of applause that filled the ballroom. She caught a glimpse of the orchestra and saw the musicians set down their instruments before they left for what she assumed would be a short break.
Without the music or her husband’s touch, she quickly stepped from the fairy tale she had been l
iving in and returned to reality. Harrison had only one reason to be so charming and to act as if he had fallen in love with her: to impress the city’s elites who were his peers and to avoid any hint that their marriage was only a façade.
When he excused himself to get some refreshments for them, she did not bother to remind him that he had promised to remain by her side the entire night. On second thought, she tried to make her way through the crowd of people to follow him, but she wound up getting nudged in the wrong direction and ended up in a far corner where a few chairs had been set up for guests who became tired.
She had barely turned around, prepared to try to reach him, when a young woman slowly approached her. Other than the fact that she was probably close in age to Annabelle, they had little in common as far as appearances were concerned—with dark hair and eyes and a very full, womanly figure, she stood a good head taller. The hard expression on her face warned Annabelle that she was about to meet someone who did not like her, even though they had never met before.
When the young woman finally stopped a few feet in front of her, Annabelle forced herself to smile. “May I presume that you’re Vienna Biddle?” she asked.
“Well, at least you’re not as witless as I’ve heard you were,” she countered. “Indeed I am, and I simply couldn’t resist the opportunity to speak to you once I saw that you were alone. That’s what Harrison does best, you know.”
Annabelle tilted up her chin, ever so grateful it was impossible for Vienna to see that her knees were shaking. “Just exactly what is it that you think my husband ‘does best’?” she asked. Deep disappointment lay beneath the woman’s glare, making it painfully clear Vienna was still in love with Harrison.
“He charms you, he seduces you, and then he abandons you.” Vienna narrowed her gaze and shook her head as if she found it distasteful to look at Annabelle at all. “In truth, I can only think of one reason that he might have chosen to marry you instead of me,” she said and leaned closer. “Tell me. Is the babe you’re carrying due to arrive in May or June?”
