by Delia Parr
Horrified by the woman’s assumption that she was pregnant or that she would sleep with a man without the benefit of marriage, Annabelle gasped. She instantly took a step back, hit the seat on one of the chairs, and barely managed to stay on her feet. Her cheeks were so hot she thought she had suddenly grown fevered, and when she balled her hands into fists, her wedding ring bit into the palm of her hand.
Vienna laughed at her. “Poor naïve Annabelle. Did you really think everyone here would simply assume that Harrison met you and married you in the space of a few days, even though he loved me and was going to propose to me as soon as he returned from his holiday? Don’t be a fool. And don’t expect to be welcomed into polite society when the reason he married you becomes more . . . obvious,” she scoffed, then turned and walked away.
Annabelle blinked back tears to clear her vision as she stumbled her way back to where Harrison had left her. She had been humiliated when Eric divorced her and the people who had been her friends and neighbors for years had turned against her. They had not even had the decency to confine their opinion of her to whispers. Like Vienna, many of them had walked right up to her and thrown the scandal of being a divorced woman in her face; Vienna’s words had reopened the wounds Annabelle had prayed so hard to seal.
She was trembling so hard, she paused to draw a deep breath and take control of her emotions when she noticed a couple standing just a few feet away from her, who had apparently just arrived and were attracting a good bit of attention. She did not know the barrel-shaped woman dressed in a glaring red gown, but she most definitely recognized the man standing next to her.
“Eric,” she whispered before her breath caught in her throat. Her knees gave way, and it took all of her willpower not to fall to the floor in a dead faint. She gulped hard and closed her eyes for a brief moment, hoping he was nothing more than a figment of her imagination, but he was still standing there with a woman she assumed to be his wife when she opened her eyes.
She caught her lower lip and edged sideways to avoid being seen and caught a bit of their conversation as the woman described their infant son, now three months old, who had accompanied them on their journey from New York City to Philadelphia to spend the holidays with her relatives.
Although Annabelle was surprised to learn that Eric now had a child, she was only able to rein in her galloping heartbeat when she reminded herself that she had nothing to fear. Eric would be just as reluctant to let anyone, especially his wife, know that he and Annabelle had once been married as she was to have Harrison find out he had been forced to marry a divorced woman.
Coming face-to-face with her past, however, still left her feeling light-headed, and she swayed on her feet. Her legs would have buckled this time if Harrison had not returned at that precise moment and put his hand to her back.
“I’ve been searching all over for you. When I couldn’t find you, I thought I might get myself introduced to the Bradleys. They seem to have the ballroom abuzz,” he said, then looked down at her and frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“I-I’m not feeling well,” she managed, dreadfully afraid of what he might do if he found out the truth about her past—a past that was standing only a few feet away.
When he studied her face, his gaze grew troubled. “You’re uncommonly pale,” he noted and wrapped his arm around her shoulders when she leaned into him. “You’re obviously weak, as well. Did you eat any of the supper I asked Irene to send up to you while you were dressing?”
She rested her eyes for a moment and sighed, but latched on to the one good excuse she could give him for feeling unwell. “I sent it back. I was too busy dressing and . . . Would you be upset with me if I asked you to take me home?”
He held her close and turned her about. “Not this time,” he replied, “but the next time we go out for the evening, we’ll have supper together so I can make certain you eat something first.”
After they made their apologies for leaving early to their host and hostess, they headed directly back to Graymoor Gardens. With the city quickly disappearing behind them and Harrison seated alongside of her, holding her hand in the darkness that enveloped them inside the coach, Annabelle finally felt her nerves begin to untangle.
“Did you ever decide if we’ll travel back into the city to attend services, too, or can we stay closer to home?” Anxious to keep as far away from the city as she could now that she knew Eric was there, Annabelle needed to know how hard she would have to plead her case to attend the small country church Irene had mentioned.
“I told you. I hadn’t really thought about attending services at all, and I haven’t given it any thought since you mentioned it the first time,” he said and let go of her hand.
Annabelle caught a gasp before it escaped. “But I . . . I just assumed we’d be going to church. In fact, now that we’re settled in one place, I was hoping to attend services every week.”
When he held silent, she continued to argue her position. “If you don’t want to go on Sunday, then just say so. But I’m going to ask Irene if I can join her and the rest of the staff when they leave for services.”
He sighed. “In the past, if I were to attend services anywhere, which is not a habit I enjoy except on very rare occasions, I prefer to go into the city to the Church of the Resurrection, where my family has a pew. If I were to go on Sunday, I’d be inclined to do the same.”
“Are you so inclined?” she asked and turned her head toward him, but it was too dark to see anything more than a silhouette of his face.
When he shrugged, his shoulders rubbed against her. “The only reason I’d even consider having us come back into the city for services on Sundays would be to get the opportunity to meet the Bradleys.”
Her heart skipped a beat before it pounded out one heavy heartbeat after another. “How can you be so certain they’d be there?”
“Everyone of prominence either belongs to that congregation or attends services there when they’re visiting the city.”
Desperate to keep him from going anywhere near Eric, most especially with her, she changed the direction of their conversation to the one topic that might be enough to distract him. “Vienna Biddle spoke to me tonight.”
He flinched and turned toward her. “When?”
“Right before you found me,” she admitted. “She’s still very much in love with you, and she’s very hurt that—”
“I told you. I made her no promises,” he said firmly. He pointed up toward the roof of the carriage and held his finger in front of his lips. “Lower your voice. I don’t want Graham to hear us,” he cautioned.
Convinced there was practically nowhere that she did not have to guard her words, she lowered her voice to a whisper. “I can’t judge whether you made any promises to her or not, but she’s very angry.”
“She’s a spoiled woman. I’m sorry. She should have vented her anger at me instead of you, but I don’t think this is a topic we should continue to discuss until we get home,” he warned.
Her cheeks burned as her mind replayed her humiliating encounter with Vienna. Blinking back tears, she ignored his warning. “She accused me of tricking you into marrying me because . . . because I’m carrying your child.”
He laughed out loud. “That’s ridiculous!” he exclaimed, clearly ignoring his own warning.
Shocked that he dismissed her words so easily, she stiffened. “I can assure you that I did not feel ridiculous when she made her claim against me,” she whispered. “I was humiliated and embarrassed that she or anyone else might think that—”
“If you let that woman upset you, then you’re the one being ridiculous. You know it isn’t true, and time will prove to Vienna and everyone else who listens to her malicious tongue that it isn’t true. Rather than dwell on something so petty, we should talk about something else that’s more important.”
Fuming, she could not believe she had ever seen this man as a prince of any kind, and her anger refueled all her resentments about being forced to marry
him. “I’m tired of whispering. Let’s talk about attending services each Sunday,” she suggested in a normal tone. “I’d like to go with Irene and the rest of the staff, and I would hope you would be inclined to go with us, instead of traveling into the city to attend services so you can meet people who seem to be more important to you than we are. Besides, I think it’s important for you to introduce me as your wife to the minister here before you explain to him why I’ll be attending services each week without you,” she said, as sweetly as she possibly could.
She could not see his glare, but she felt it.
“Fine. I’ll go with all of you this Sunday. Will that make you happy?”
“I believe it will,” she murmured, but she did not expect to be truly happy again until she set aside her childish dreams of romance and her marriage to this man was annulled.
Chapter Sixteen
As far as Harrison was concerned, attending services at the rustic country church a few miles west of Graymoor Gardens was a small price to pay for peace within his household.
He tuned out the minister’s voice as he droned a final long-winded message and ignored the puffs of clouds his breath created in the freezing air to glance down at Annabelle, who was sitting next to him on a crude bench in the front of the church. He had no idea how she could be so devoted to a God who had obviously abandoned her, too, but he coveted the peace and serenity that had etched her features from the moment the service began. He also resented the fact that had he not agreed to be here today, Irene would have made his life unbearable.
With his cousin coming for dinner today, Harrison was convinced his life was already about as miserable as it could get, considering that his plans for a memorable evening with Annabelle at the Sullivans’ ball had ended so abruptly. Spending an hour this morning in this unheated church was even more difficult, since he had struggled to keep warm for the past few nights in his bed in the library alcove. He was shifting his weight from one foot to the other to keep them from permanently freezing to the dirt floor when he caught a change in Reverend Bingham’s voice and realized his sermon was finally coming to a much-welcomed end.
“And so to all of you on this blessed Sunday morning, let me end with a challenge: In order to know God’s love and see His presence in your lives, you must open your hearts to Him, for it is His love and the grace He gives to each one of us that will nourish us, sustain us, and bring us all home to Glory. Alleluia. Alleluia!”
“Alleluia!” the congregation replied in unison, albeit without Harrison’s voice among them as he simply mouthed the response.
While the congregation celebrated the end of the service with a hushed hymn, he looked around at the fifty-odd people who were huddling side by side wearing heavy winter coats and capes in the small log building that had slipped into disrepair. The warming stove was stone cold, which he attributed to the scarcity of firewood that plagued most of the city. Glass windows that he remembered being here had been replaced with oilcloth, which did little more than keep rain or snow from blowing into the church. Overhead, several patches in the roof were clearly visible, but daylight streaming in through a fair number of holes in the roof indicated that more repairs were necessary.
He dropped his gaze, turned, and scanned the crowd. He had not attended services here since he was a boy, so most of the people were strangers. He did, however, recognize a few. Jacob Pugh, nearly eighty now, had lost his wife and two grown sons to the same epidemic that had claimed Harrison’s brother and his family. Albertine Murdock, who had been widowed twice before her thirtieth birthday, was almost fifty now and was wearing a black-veiled bonnet, which suggested she was mourning the loss of yet another husband. Alexander Cranshaw was also there, with his wife and three marriageable-age daughters.
Caught up in memories that filled his heart with deep sorrow for all that he had lost, he was amazed that other people who had all suffered from great tragedies would still be so committed to their faith. When he got a sharp poke in the middle of his back, he flinched and realized the final hymn had ended and people were beginning to file out of the church.
He turned and looked over his shoulder at Irene, who was sitting with the rest of the staff on a bench directly behind him, and frowned. “There’s a lot to be said for attending services in the city where they have proper pews instead of rickety benches and people can’t poke at other people. What is it now?”
“Nothing, unless you’d rather not join your wife,” she said and pointed to the left.
When he looked in that direction, he saw Annabelle speaking to Reverend Bingham. Since he had already introduced her to the minister when they first arrived and made a weak promise to return each week with her, he wasted no time in joining them. “I apologize,” he said and placed his hand at her back. “I’m afraid I was still thinking about your impressive sermon, and I didn’t even realize services were over.”
Beaming, the young minister, who was wearing a threadbare overcoat, nudged at the spectacles that had slipped down to the tip of his nose until they were back in place. “Considering it’s cold enough in here to keep the snow that drifted inside from melting, that’s quite a compliment. Thank you.”
Annabelle looked up at him. “Before we left I wanted to make certain that Reverend Bingham had plans for dinner today,” she offered a bit sheepishly.
The minister actually blushed. “Everyone takes pity on a lonely bachelor, but as I was just about to tell your wife, I’ve accepted an invitation to share dinner with the Cranshaws. You know them, of course.”
Harrison nodded stiffly. “For some time,” he replied, without adding that it had been eight years since he had seen Robert or his family.
“Perhaps you can join us another time,” Annabelle suggested and put her hand on Harrison’s arm. “Shall we go? Irene is anxious to get back to her kitchen, and Philip should be arriving soon.”
“I should go, as well. I’ll give your regards to the Cranshaws,” the minister suggested. “I’ll see you both next Sunday.”
Harrison nodded again, although returning to this church again meant that sooner or later he would have to explain to the young minister why he had divorced the woman he had so recently married.
Sunday dinner was a veritable feast. Roast venison. A bowl of potatoes, carrots, and turnips. Thick dark gravy to pour on top and rich, sweet butter to melt on hot, golden biscuits. Yorkshire pudding.
Annabelle could not decide which dish to select for a second helping. She solved the problem by taking a little bit of everything and savored every scrumptious bite. She did not realize that both Harrison and Philip were staring at her until she finished and dropped her gaze. “Have I done something wrong?” she murmured and fidgeted with the napkin on her lap.
Harrison chuckled. “Not at all, although I don’t believe I’ve ever seen anyone your size eat quite as much as you do.”
“Nor have I,” Philip added with a chuckle. “In all truth, most women I know don’t eat enough to keep a sparrow breathing, although I suspect it’s more a matter of what they perceive to be proper for a young woman to eat than actual hunger.”
Annabelle narrowed her gaze and looked from one end of the table to the other to study each man’s expression. “It’s not proper to eat?”
“Men eat. Ladies nibble at their food, at least in public,” Harrison suggested.
Philip nodded in agreement. “I couldn’t prove it, but I suspect most ladies enjoy their fair share of food in the privacy of their own homes.”
Making a mental note of yet another rule to follow when she was not at home, she grinned. “Then since I’m home, neither one of you should mind if I have one more slice of venison.”
“You might change your mind about that once you see my desserts,” Irene prompted as she entered the dining area, with Peggy and Lotte following right on her heels.
Annabelle took one glance at the massive tray filled with desserts that Irene was carrying and needed no further encouragement. She noted the surpr
ised looks on Harrison’s and Philip’s faces as they stared at the tray and indulged in a giggle.
Within minutes, Peggy and Lotte had dinner cleared away and the center of the table was lined with desserts, fresh plates, and utensils before they left. Irene stood next to Harrison with a silly grin on her face. “In case you’re wondering, that’s my usual apple pie right there in the center, but I also made an apple-plum strudel, which is closest to you, Mr. Philip, since Harrison doesn’t enjoy the flavor of plums at all. Harrison, you’ve got some fancy molasses cookies right here in front of you. Peggy should be here with some warm beverages for all of you shortly, but while you’re waiting, you might want to try a bit of each of my desserts.” She winked at Annabelle and left the room.
Before Annabelle could even begin to fill the dessert plates, Harrison nudged the plate of molasses cookies closer to him and stared at the cookies for a moment before he laughed. “Is this your doing?” he asked, looking up at Annabelle.
“Yes, I gave Irene the recipe,” she replied and her spine stiffened. “I sampled a few yesterday when they came out of the oven and they were delicious. You might want to try one before you dismiss the cookies as some sort of joke.”
He sobered immediately and moved the plate closer to her so she could have a better look at the cookies. “Did your recipe also call for this specific type of decoration?”
“There’s no decoration,” Annabelle argued, but took back her words the instant she saw the letters that Irene must have carved into the cookies while they were still warm. Shaking her head, she laughed, too, which inspired Philip to get out of his seat.
Standing between Annabelle and Harrison, he studied the cookies and chuckled. “I wasn’t aware that Irene knew her letters. Did she actually carve each of these cookies with some of the letters of the alphabet?”
