She shook her head as her shaking intensified. “I don’t know if I can trust you again. If I can allow myself to love you again.”
He sat next to her on the sofa and pulled her onto his lap, cuddling her.
Her shivers and shaking continued as she lost her battle and sobbed.
“Do you know what my greatest fear was?” He paused for a moment as though awaiting a response before he continued his one-sided conversation. “I promised myself, with that vow to Maggie, never to marry, never to love. It was never about Maggie and the bairn. It was always about me.”
He kissed Annabelle’s temple as her sobs continued. “’Twas always about what I feared suffering again. I was a coward, and I failed myself. I failed you.”
“You hurt me,” she whispered, “and your worst fear almost came true.”
He shuddered at her words. “Give me a chance, Belle.”
She met his entreating gaze and shook her head in confusion.
“Let me court you as I should have upon first seeing you. Let me show you how much I treasure you.”
“I’m not moving back in,” she whispered.
He nodded, holding her close. “Not yet.” He sat, rocking her on his lap, as he felt the first moment of peace since he had learned of her pregnancy.
Fidelia knocked at the rear door to the bakery with her shoulders thrown back as she met the glares of the women and the leers of the men who passed by. She wore a modest dress with nary a ruffle or petticoat visible, and her woolen shawl covered her immodest cut to the bodice of the dress. She relaxed as the door opened.
“Fidelia!” Annabelle opened her arms to her sister and pulled her into a hug before tugging her into the warmth of the bakery. She pushed her sister onto a stool before extracting a jug of milk from the icebox. As she slipped off the lid to a tin of cookies she’d set aside, she studied her sister. “Are you all right?”
Fidelia hunched into herself on the chair. “I’m fine. Just had a bit of trouble last night with one of my customers.”
The tin rattled on the countertop as Annabelle gripped her sister’s chin to better study her face. Her frown intensified as she discerned the bruises makeup couldn’t fully hide. “Who did this?”
Fidelia rolled her eyes as she reached for a cookie. She nibbled on it and muttered her thanks as Annabelle poured her a glass of milk. “It doesn’t matter. If it wasn’t the man last night, it would be another.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Some men like to rough up women.”
“How can you accept such treatment? You deserve better.” She recoiled at the look of disdain and hopelessness in her sister’s gaze.
“I’m a whore, Anna. It’s best you come to accept it. Your husband has. Your new family has. They treat me fine, which is more than I expected. I thought they’d make you sever all ties with me, which is only what I deserve.” She took a sip of the milk, licking at her upper lip. “I’m especially thankful they were more forgiving than most.”
“I know you’ve spent time with Cailean.” When Fidelia began to protest, Annabelle motioned for her to remain quiet. “He explained to me that he paid for your time to give you a break and to learn more about me. I trust what he told me was true.”
Fidelia paused with the cookie halfway to her lips. “How can you? Trust a man?” She took a deep breath. “After Father and all he did?”
Annabelle scooted a stool over to sit across from Fidelia. “I’m sorry, Dee.” Her hand shot out to still Fidelia’s instinctive motion to rise and flee. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you when he threw you out. I should have known better.”
Fidelia firmed her jaw and remained silent for a long moment. “Don’t expect me to forgive you, Anna. Or to ever forgive Father.”
Annabelle released her sister’s arm and sighed with relief when she remained seated across from her. “I understand.”
Fidelia shook her head. “I don’t believe you do.” She glanced at the upside-down watch pinned to Annabelle’s dress. “I need to go soon. Before I do, I want to know how you knew you could trust what your husband told you was the truth—about the time he spent with me.”
Annabelle shrugged. “I don’t know how to explain it. He’s a good man. A decent man. And I trusted him.”
“But he hurt you.” Fidelia’s eyes shone with outrage.
“Yes, although I imagine I hurt him too.” She rubbed at her temple. “I’ve come to realize that the makings of a good relationship do not come from the ability to always be happy. They come from the ability to acknowledge our mistakes and to apologize.”
“So you will forgive him?” Fidelia asked.
“I’m not sure. Maybe.” She attempted a smile for her sister. “I felt at peace with him last night. The first time I’ve felt any peace since I lost the baby.” She ran a hand over her stomach before she met her sister’s silent, inquisitive gaze. “I fear I’m not brave enough to forgive him. To love him again.”
Her sister scoffed at Annabelle’s whispered confession. “You’re the bravest person I know. You regularly defied Father. You traveled here alone to find me. You stand up to the Madam.” Her sister’s smile was tinged with pride. “If you want to forgive him, you will.”
Annabelle sighed. “How will I know?”
Fidelia shook her head. “You’re asking the wrong person. I’ve spent my life feeding my resentments. I don’t know what I would do if I had to give them up.” She squeezed her sister’s hand and rose. “Good luck, Anna.”
Annabelle watched as her sister slipped out the back door, and she rested her head on her arms. Her mind was awhirl with possibilities, and she fell asleep before determining what she wanted to do.
Cailean whistled while he worked the following morning. He had already hauled in the water for the troughs and started mucking out stalls. Soon he’d work on repairing tack. He paused, swiping at sweat on his brow. “Why are you staring at me?”
Alistair shrugged. “Ye seem different the past few days. I hope ’tis a sign of things to come.”
Cailean leaned against the handle of his shovel, extending his break. “I’ve realized I haven’t lost Annabelle.”
Alistair’s eyebrows shot up. “I thought she’d never forgive the visits to the Boudoir.”
Cailean shook his head and smiled. “She believed me. I think she’ll check what I said with her sister, but she’ll soon know I told her the truth.” He watched his brother with hope in his eyes. “Do you know what she said to me?” At Alistair’s shake of his head, he took a deep breath. “She said I’d almost lost her.”
Alistair watched him in confusion. “I dinna ken the importance of that. Ye did almost lose her.”
Cailean beamed. “It means she doesn’t consider herself lost to me. I still have a chance to win her back.” He frowned. “The only problem is, I have to learn how to woo my own wife.”
Alistair chuckled. “Ye’ve never had to woo a woman afore. Should be interestin’ to watch ye now.”
Cailean thrust the shovel against one of the stalls and kicked at a mound of dung. “What would you do?”
Alistair shook his head as he fought laughter. “I ken what I’d do to win my Leticia. But each woman’s different. Ye have to know what they like. Leticia loves books, long walks, and time spent with her daughter. What does yer Annabelle like?”
Cailean rubbed at his head. “Baking. Caring for others. I don’t know what to do for her.”
Alistair scratched his chin. “Women like flowers. ’Tis a pity winter came early this year.” He watched his brother. “Do little things, every day, that show her that ye care.”
Cailean nodded and rose. He stretched a moment before he moved to the office to work on the books. He also wanted time alone to plot ways to woo his recalcitrant wife.
Chapter 13
January turned into February, and Annabelle prepared for Valentine’s Day. She had ordered a half-dozen heart-shaped cake tins from a catalog and had been completely booked for the cakes on the first day she had advert
ised the special in her shop. To compensate for those who missed the cake special, she planned to make heart-shaped cookies.
Each morning, she woke to find her wood box at the back door freshly stocked and a fresh pail of water waiting on the step. When it snowed heavily, it was cleared away before she could shovel it aside. Tobias’s threat to raise his prices for the purchase of flour, sugar, and her other sundries vanished. She smiled as she envisioned Cailean speaking with Tobias.
Her smile faded as she thought about her husband. She sat at her desk on a Sunday morning, refusing to think about the few perfect Sunday mornings she had spent with Cailean before everything had gone so wrong. He had to be the one aiding her. She shied away from imagining she had another admirer. “What am I to do?” she whispered to herself.
Christmas had been a stilted, formal affair where she had joined them for dinner. She had sat between Sorcha and Ewan and evaded Cailean’s intense stare. His gifts of a cookbook, a baking tin, and a book filled with poems by Robert Burns had embarrassed her. She had baked a cake for the family and had not brought a gift for him. After dinner, he had attempted to coax her into the parlor for quiet conversation, but she had remained in the kitchen with Sorcha before sneaking out the back door while he was in a deep discussion with Ewan.
She covered her face with her hands before dropping her head into her crossed arms. “I don’t know what to do,” she muttered. She had belatedly read the poems, only then finding he had written notes for her after his favorite verses. Words of hope, praise, and love, meant for her eyes only. She swiped at her cheeks as she raised her head and attempted to focus on her list of things she needed to do before the February 14 rush later in the week.
Cailean kicked at a bucket in the livery, grunting when the water within remained frozen in place yet the wood shattered from his abuse. “Bluidy hell,” he groaned as he hopped on one foot.
“Serves ye right for destroyin’ a perfectly good bucket,” Alistair said with a raised eyebrow. “What’s got ye so fashed?”
Cailean plopped onto a stool and attempted to massage his toes through his boots. “Nothing matters, Al.” At his brother’s confused stare, he said, “It doesn’t matter what I do. Annabelle will never forgive me.”
Alistair set the pitchfork into the dirt and leaned against it. “Seems to me ye’ve shown her yer constancy. Ye’re there every day with water and wood. But have ye told her that ye loved her? Other than when ye thought her dying?”
Cailean frowned. “I don’t know. I think so, but I can’t be certain.” He glared at his brother. “But I’ve damn well shown her every day how I feel.”
Alistair shrugged. “Ye hurt her, Cail. More than ye’ll ever understand. Some hurts take a lot longer to heal than others.” He watched his brother intently. “She might not believe ye are sincere until she’s with babe and ye don’t act like a madman.”
Cailean glared at him. “How am I to ever get her with babe if she won’t even talk with me on Christmas? I haven’t held her since we spoke before Christmas when she cried in my arms.” He set an elbow on his thigh and leaned his head on his hand. “I can’t go on like this, Al. If she wants a divorce, I can’t deny her one.”
Alistair grunted. “No. Although, from what I hear, she’s no’ interested in anyone else. She has a more limited life than when she arrived here.” He frowned. “An’ that’s saying something. Irene and Harold gave me an earful last week when they saw me walkin’ down the boardwalk. Thought we had ruined her spirit and were preventin’ her from coming in for her customary chats.”
Cailean’s shoulders stooped. “I hate that she’s this sad. That I caused her such despair.”
Alistair watched his brother. “Ye’ve always had a knack for believing you were more responsible than ye are for the woes of those around ye.” He sighed and sat on a stool near his brother. The pair of stools were Christmas gifts from Sorcha. “Ye caused a part of her sadness, Cail. The loss of the bairn would have always caused a tremendous sorrow.”
Cailean nodded. “But I didn’t make it any better.”
Alistair raised both hands. “No, ye didn’t. But ye have to ken she’d have sorrow, no matter how ye acted. She would have had less had ye been less of an ass, but she would have needed to mourn, no matter how ye were.”
Cailean nodded. “It doesn’t help me with how to woo her back home.” He and Alistair shared a long look, and Cailean’s smile was ironic as he said, “I don’t know how I’ll give up the hope of her.”
Two days before Valentine’s Day, Annabelle woke with a start. She stilled as she attempted to slow her stuttering heartbeat. A pounding on her front door propelled her into action. She lit a lamp and moved to the front of her shop. “Yes?” she called out.
“Miss Evans? Mrs. MacKinnon?” a nervous voice called out. A woman’s voice.
“Yes?” Annabelle peered around the curtain. She frowned at the woman covered in a cloak. When she raised the lamp, the woman’s face was covered in rouge. Annabelle flipped the lock and opened the door. “What happened?”
“Charity. She’s hurt.” The woman glanced over her shoulder. “I wasn’t to leave. Wasn’t to tell you. Ezekial will be fierce angry. But you must come.”
Annabelle nodded. “I’ll be there directly. Go before the Madam misses you.” She shut the door and raced to her back room where she donned warm clothes and her boots. When she approached her front door, she froze. After a moment’s hesitation, she rushed outside, locked it, and then raced to Cailean’s house.
She pounded on the front door, shivering in the cold evening air. After many minutes, the door flew open to an irate Cailean. His expression altered from irritation to concern the moment he saw her. “Belle?” he whispered, his hand rising to stroke her cheek.
“I need you, Cailean. I need your help.” At his nod, she whispered, “One of the girls from the Boudoir just woke me. She said Fidelia’s been hurt. I don’t want to go there alone.”
He pulled her into a tight embrace for a moment. “Nor should ye.” He kissed her on her head before he eased away. “Give me a minute.” He tugged her inside before he disappeared upstairs. She heard thunks as he moved around, and then he rejoined her a few minutes later. He threw on a heavy coat, hat, and scarf. He pulled out another scarf and wrapped that around her neck.
As he ushered her outside, he looped her arm through his. They clambered over a snowbank, making their way to the mostly clear boardwalk. The snow spit, and the wind howled, and he kept a tight hold of her arm. The boardwalk was deserted this time of night due to the cold. Singing and loud chatter emerged from the Stumble-Out’s closed doors, its windows steamed over and providing a rare sense of mystique to the seedy saloon. When they arrived at the Boudoir, rather than enter the front, she led him to the back entrance where she slipped inside in front of him.
The Madam stood in the kitchen with the doctor. They turned to look at Annabelle and Cailean as they entered. “How dare you come here?” the Madam screeched. She wore a black dress with red accents, and her makeup was demurely done, accenting her intelligent eyes. Unlike her girls, who looked tawdry and cheap when seeing customers, she looked regal and refined.
“I want my sister,” Annabelle demanded. “I know she’s hurt.” At the doctor’s nod, she stiffened her shoulders.
“It’s nothing she hasn’t suffered before. She’ll recover and continue to be a good asset.” She glared at Annabelle. “You should not have been summoned, and you should have known better than to come here.”
“I believe it’s for Miss Fidelia to decide if she wishes to remain here,” Cailean said, as he squeezed Annabelle’s shoulder in support.
“Are you hoping she’ll leave with you tonight so you can have wife and whore at home?” the Madam taunted, her smile widening as Annabelle flinched. “I’ve always known men were depraved, but most men attempt to shield their wives from their baser instincts.”
The tic in his jaw was clearly visible as he looked at the Madam. “I’
d be careful what you say.”
“You aren’t taking her from me! She’s my highest earner. You’ll have to pay me to get her!”
“Are you saying you own her?” Annabelle asked. “I’d hate to believe you’d hold someone here against her will.”
The Madam flushed in agitation but clamped her jaw shut as she realized that Annabelle and Cailean were a unified front.
Cailean looked at the doctor. “If you would show us to Fidelia?” He glared the Madam into silence and propelled Annabelle into following the doctor. They walked upstairs to find Ezekial standing guard outside her miniscule room barely large enough for a cot.
“Fat lot of good you are!” Annabelle snapped at the large man. “If you had any sense, you would have ensured Fidelia’s safety long before now.” She met the man’s blazing glare with her own before allowing Cailean to lead her into the room.
Fidelia lay motionless on her back, her face battered, neck bruised, and breathing labored and shallow. “What happened to her?” Annabelle asked as she knelt beside her sister and took her hand.
“The man who has become obsessed with her attacked her again. Even though the Madam insists she wrung a promise out of him that he wouldn’t harm her.” The doctor sighed. “She has at least two broken ribs.”
“Does she have any other injuries?” Cailean asked.
“I’m hopeful she has no internal injuries, but it’s too early to know. And she hasn’t regained consciousness since his attack. I fear she may have head trauma.”
“Will she die?” Annabelle asked as she fought tears.
“I can’t say.” He cleared his throat. “If you will excuse me? I have other patients who require my expertise.” He left them alone with her.
“Belle, we can’t get her back to the house between us without hurting her.”
She turned to look at him. “What do you mean?”
“We can’t leave her here.” His gaze softened as he saw gratitude flicker through hers. “We need to get her home, but I don’t want to leave you here to contend with the Madam.”
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