“Oh,” he breathed. “Then, come, my dearest. Let us go back to the house and impart the good news to all our friends.”
“And to your mother,” she said, raising her eyes to his with a demure smile. And he laughed, as she had hoped he would. They would not fall out over the Dowager Countess, in any event.
He stood and offered her his arm, and they walked slowly back up the lawn to the house to receive the congratulations, with greater or lesser sincerity, of everyone present. Annabelle was kissed by the aunts and Allan had his hand vigorously shaken, champagne was poured and the couple’s health was drunk, and only the dowager glowered and said nothing.
Before long, the first heavy splashes of rain fell, and the servants rushed about retrieving cushions and moving chairs to shelter. The terrace was partly covered and so the whole group lingered on outside, drinking champagne steadily as rain poured from overflows and gurgled through drain pipes, and lightning flickered over the lakes. Only when thunder crashed almost overhead did everyone begin to drift indoors again.
Annabelle smiled and blushed, head lowered, yet was fully aware that her happiness was tempered by disappointment. There had been no kiss to seal the bargain, no mention of love and no passion. Could she live the rest of her life without that glorious, shiver-inducing passion that she had felt once before? Could she survive with only politeness and kindness? Was it enough? It might have to be.
~~~~~
Annabelle had expected her life to change instantly, but nothing of the sort occurred. The girls were told — her step-daughters, as they would be before long — and they reacted with pleased surprise. “Oh good, now you will never go away!” Dorothea said, which made Annabelle cry. The servants displayed a new respect. She set aside her plain governess gowns and brought out her finery for the evening, taking her place beside Allan and finally joining him at the card table. But otherwise, her life went on as before. Once the news got about, she supposed she would be expected to receive callers and make calls of her own, and perhaps there would be invitations, but her first day as the future mistress of Charlsby was spent in the schoolroom, as always.
She wrote long letters to all her sisters, telling them her news. It was awkward, for she had said very little about Allan before, apart from the occasional mentions that arose from his position as her employer and a central figure into the investigation into his wife’s death. Her own feelings had been too nebulous, and the prospect of a resolution seemed too unlikely to be worthy of relating. Even when he had declared his intentions, she had not wanted to raise her sisters’ hopes of a reprieve from their penury. But now, it could all be told, and they must know of her happiness…
Here she quailed. Was she happy? Yes, naturally she was happy, for how could she not be? She would have a kind and gentle husband, a position in society, a lovely house, a family… In fact, she would have a family the instant she left the church. And here a lowering thought assailed her. How often had Allan complimented her on her management of his daughters, and praised her teaching skills? Perhaps, after all, that was her greatest attraction — that she would make a competent step-mother. Yet he had told her more than once that he wanted to kiss her, and not always when fuelled by rum. He liked her a little, then. He felt some attraction towards her.
But not love. And if he did not love her, then she could never show him how much she loved him. If he chose to be polite and restrained, that was how she must be, too. Yet how much she longed to kiss him, to touch him, to feel his warm arms around her.
~~~~~
On the second morning after her betrothal, Annabelle woke later than usual, yet there was no chocolate awaiting her, nor any sign of her hot water for washing. She washed in last night’s cold water, and was half dressed before a maid Annabelle had not seen before came in at a run, carrying the ewer of water.
“So sorry, Miss,” she said. “We’re all at sixes and sevens this morning.”
“Where is Milly today? She is usually so prompt with the water.”
“Sick, Miss. Sorry, gotta rush. Breakfast tray at the usual time, I hope.”
“Will you just lace my stays before you go? It is the only part I cannot easily do myself.”
“Oh… course, Miss.” She laced them so loosely that Annabelle might as well not have been wearing stays at all. Then, with a quick bob of a curtsy, she rushed away.
Annabelle went out for a morning walk. She told herself it was to take advantage of the cooler air, but a corner of her mind hoped to meet Allan. However, she returned to the house without seeing a soul, and ate her breakfast in solitude in her room. How she hated those breakfast trays! She had grown up eating breakfast in company with Mama and Papa and all her sisters. Whatever else they did during the day, that hour in the breakfast parlour was an affirmation of her family’s affection. She and her sisters would giggle and whisper together about their new bonnets or the chance of a sighting of the handsome new neighbour, Mama would laugh and tell them they should think about their music practice, not young men, and Papa would chaff them for making so much noise. And Jeremy… no, she could hardly remember Jeremy. He always had his nose in a book. Poor Jeremy, who had never wanted to go to sea, yet there he was, his bones lying amongst the fishes.
Now she was getting maudlin. That would never do! She must not repine, for was she not on the brink of matrimony to a kind man… If only he would kiss her! If only he would take her in his arms and tell her he loved her, that he wanted her for herself and not just as a mother to his daughters. If only…
She took a deep breath. Once she was safely married, then she could begin to draw out her husband a little, and look for the affectionate man that she hoped lay hidden inside the formal exterior. And she would start by proposing that they eat breakfast together, and the girls too. They would be a proper family. That would please him, surely?
Before she began lessons for the day, Annabelle sent to enquire after Milly, and received encouraging news. She had collapsed unnoticed in one of the store-rooms while fetching fresh candles the night before, and had been quite ill at first, but Dr Wilcox had seen her and cupped her, and she was a little better.
Late in the morning, Mrs Hale came to the schoolroom. “His lordship’s apologies for interrupting the lesson, but would you be so good as to attend him in the study, Madam.”
“Oh. Of course. Thank you, Mrs Hale. Dody, you may continue your writing. Florry, Freddy, when you have completed your translation, you may begin memorising the next sonnet in the sequence. I shall hear you recite when I return.”
They rose to curtsy as she left the room. They, too, were more deferential now that she was betrothed to their father.
The study adjoined the library. Once, the two rooms had been laid out in the usual arrangement for all the corner rooms of Charlsby, with one larger portion for the library and one very much smaller as a study, set alongside the spiral service stair. Sometime in the past, however, these two had been rearranged, and half the library given over to increase the size of the study. Here Allan and Mr Cross had matching desks, and here the business of the estate was carried on.
Allan rose to greet Annabelle as she was shown in with such a smile on his face that she could not mistake his affection. He took her hand and raised it to his lips, and that small touch, that warmth on the back of her hand, relieved all her anxieties. When she was alone, all her doubts flooded in to haunt her, yet when she was with him, when he looked at her with such obvious admiration, she was perfectly happy.
“My dear! Come in, come in. Mr Cross and I are finalising the notice to be sent to the newspapers, and we wished you to see it first, to be sure that we have everything correct. We have put ‘ ..second daughter of the late Mr Winterton of Woodside in the county of Brinshire.’ Is that as you would wish? Should we mention your mother’s family also? What was your father’s Christian name?”
“Edmund,” she said absently. “I do not know about mentioning my mother. She was a Tilford, a long-established family in
Shropshire, but she is not connected with the nobility. I beg your pardon, I have never done this before. I do not know what is proper.”
“Generally speaking, Miss Winterton,” Mr Cross said, “one might mention the mother’s family if it is grander or wealthier than the father’s, but in this case…?”
“Oh, no, I do not think so. Mama’s family is perfectly respectable, but the estate is very modest.”
“Then I believe it should not be mentioned. Is there anyone you would wish his lordship to notify of the marriage?”
“No, I believe not. I have told my sisters, and there are no other close relations.”
Allan stroked her hand gently. “Miss Winterton, you will wish to have time to obtain your wedding clothes, so how would you feel about a wedding in three months’ time? In November. That will be more than a year since Eloise died, and, for myself, I should like everything to be settled before Christmas, but I will abide by your wishes in the matter. If you wish to wait until the spring—”
“Oh, by no means. Let it be November.”
“Excellent. I plan to invite your brother-in-law to visit, to discuss the settlements and so forth, but you have no mother to advise you. Perhaps you wish to have one of your sisters here with you, to help you and bear you company, for my mother is perhaps not the best person to take care of you.”
“You are all kindness, my lord, but my sister Rosamund is unlikely to wish to travel so close to her confinement, and Lucy, Margaret and Fanny cannot leave their posts just now.”
“Hmm, and my own sisters cannot be spared either. So what is to be done?”
She smiled at the thought that she must now have a companion. “If she is willing, Mrs Pargeter would be well suited to advise me on new clothes, for her taste is excellent.”
“Ah, that is true. But still, she is a stranger to you. Surely you wish to have a congenial companion?”
“I have no need of company beyond yours,” she said simply, looking into his eyes.
“Ah, Annabelle,” he said, squeezing her hand, and she felt rather breathlessly that if Mr Cross had not been there perhaps Allan might at last have stepped beyond mere politeness. Perhaps he might even have kissed her.
~~~~~
Allan was dizzy with happiness. She had said yes! He had been terrified that it was too soon after her quarrel with the despicable Mr Keeling, terrified that she might refuse him and then… then everything would have been awkward, and she might have felt obliged to go away. But she did not refuse, and all was well.
Now there was just the interminable three months until the wedding to be got through. Three months. Thirteen weeks. Ninety days or thereabouts. He could barely contain his impatience, but he must. For ninety days, he must tiptoe around her, do nothing to remind her of her worthless suitor, do nothing to alarm her or send her running. She was only marrying him because she must, after all. I cannot refuse you. Eloise could not refuse him, either. That was the damnable part of being an earl, of being wealthy and respectable and worthy, there were few women wealthy enough or powerful enough to spurn him. Well, he would take Annabelle however he could get her, and he would do everything in his power to make her happy, but please Lord, let her not cry off. And please Lord, let Miss Lorrimer not cry off, either. Let her marry Mr Keeling and take him out of Annabelle’s life for ever.
But it was so difficult to keep his distance. Allan hardly dared trust himself alone with her, yet he had to see her as often as possible. The evenings were wonderful, for he could take her into dinner on his arm, sit beside her, talk to her, look at her, admire the whiteness of her smooth arms, the brightness of her eye, the rosy lips… Ah, those lips! How they tormented him! So luscious and enticing, but he dared not kiss her, so he tried never to be alone with her.
Still, there were ways of seeing her, even during the day, so that he could feast on her delicious curves and welcoming smiles. Long after Annabelle had returned to the schoolroom, he emerged from his seclusion with Mr Cross to find a letter for her sitting on the hall table. Smiling, he picked it up, and took the stairs two at a time.
Florence was reciting when he entered the schoolroom, so he waited politely until she had finished and praised her performance.
“Shall you hear it all, Papa? I can easily begin again.”
“You may recite it all for me this afternoon, if you like, when you come to the library. I only came to bring Miss Winterton her letter.”
“Ooh, who is it from?” Dody said excitedly.
“It is from one of my sisters,” she said, looking at the writing.
“Which one? Is it the married one who goes to London?”
“I cannot tell until I open it, although there is a blot on the direction, so that might be Lucy.”
“You cannot tell?” Allan said in surprise. “They sound such different people that I would have imagined they wrote in very different hands.”
“No, indeed. We all write in exactly the same manner, just as we were taught by Mama. Sisters always write alike. You have seen your daughters’ writing and you cannot tell one from another, can you?”
“No, but… I had supposed that temperament affected such matters.”
“A little, perhaps, but if sisters are taught in the same way, and learn well, they will always write in the exact same style. I imagine brothers are the same, if they have the same tutor, or attend the same school.”
He acknowledged that it might be so, and, having no further excuse to linger, he left them to their work.
It was hours later, as he was in his library, trying to read and finding his thoughts preoccupied with his future bride, that her words came back into his awareness.
“Sisters… Oh, great heavens, sisters!”
And finally he understood.
He leapt up, casting his book aside, and rushed into the hall, where Portman stood patiently. “Mr Willerton-Forbes — is he is his office upstairs?”
“I believe so, my lord. He rang for more paper just an hour ago.”
Allan ran up the stairs, and tore into Willerton-Forbes’ office without knocking.
The lawyer was at his desk, scratching away with a pen, but he looked up as Allan burst in. “My lord?”
“Sisters! They are—”
From somewhere not too far away, a pistol shot cracked in the still air.
23: The Grecian Temple
‘Dear, dear Annabelle, How happy your news makes me! I suspected long since that there was an attachment between you, for you talked so highly of Lord B and his many fine qualities as bespoke a great regard, and you are so charming and clever that he must be a simpleton not to fall in love with you instantly, so this is perfect and I am so, so happy for you! I wish you the greatest joy, my dear sister. Pray write soon with all the details of the wedding date and what clothes you are buying and whether you will make any changes to the house and if you will have to keep the Dowager Countess or may pack her off to the Dower House at once. Is there a Dower House? These noble families always have a Dower House, do they not? Shall you have a wedding tour? And if so will you come to Yorkshire? I should so very much like to see you again, for although I have made all these new friends, there is no one like family and one’s own sisters, is there? Do write again very soon. Your delighted sister, Fanny.’
~~~~~
The girls were to have their riding lesson that afternoon, so, after she had sent to enquire after Milly and learnt she was sleeping peacefully, Annabelle was able to retire to her room to read her letter at leisure. She wrote a long reply, before folding the letter away neatly and putting it in her box with all of her sisters’ other letters. Sometimes she would take out a batch to reread, and try to divine whether each sister were as content with her lot as she claimed, or merely putting a brave face on her situation. Perhaps before too long she would be able to rescue them from their impoverished situations and bring them to Charlsby… But no, for then they would be poor relations and just as impoverished as before, and besides, Allan would not want
all three of her unmarried sisters descending on him, especially Lucy, whose chattering would drive him mad. She sighed. It was difficult to know what to do for the best.
She had just picked up a book to read when a knock on the door heralded the entrance of Mr Penicuik. He coughed discreetly, his face crimson with embarrassment.
“Beg pardon, Miss Winterton…”
“Good day, Mr Penicuik. May I be of service to you?”
“No, no, nothing like that, Miss Winterton,” he said, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “I have brought you a message.”
“Oh, I see. What is the message, pray?”
“Lord Brackenwood would like you to meet him in the Grecian Temple.”
“At what hour?”
“Oh. I do not know. I suppose… now.”
She laughed in delight, thrilled at the prospect of an assignation. At last, she would be private with Allan and surely now he would kiss her and hold her and—
Mr Penicuik cleared his throat.
“Oh… thank you, Mr Penicuik.”
Throwing down her book, she grabbed a bonnet and rushed down the stairs and out through the saloon. With quick steps, she crossed the lawn and made her way along the upper lake, across the bridge and a little way round the lower lake.
The Grecian Temple was empty. She tried not to be disappointed, knowing that Allan would be there soon. It was pleasantly cool inside, so she sat on the marble seat and waited as patiently as she could. It would be worth the wait, for the temple was very secluded, the towering shrubs around the lake screening it from the house. She would have Allan all to herself, and they could talk, and hold hands, and kiss and—
A figure came into view, strolling slowly along the path edging the lake, her elegant skirts swaying, a parasol shielding her from the sun. Mrs Pargeter. Of all the unlucky coincidences, that she should pass this way just now! If she spotted Allan approaching, she would be sure to engage him in conversation, and then perhaps she would sit with them in the temple and Annabelle’s precious time alone with her betrothed would be lost.
The Governess Page 23
