“I will bid you good day, Miss Albright. I can see it was the wrong decision to come here.” Edmund was already at the door. In a moment he would leave. The floor felt as though it tilted beneath her feet.
Anne stared after him and the words were on her lips before she thought. “Edmund wait!”
He stopped. He looked over his shoulder at her, hope flickering briefly in his eyes.
Anne had no words. What could she say? “You and I… We were never promised. We never said…” She stammered.
“You forget. We made our promises a long time ago.”
She remembered that day on the bridge. Was it possible that Edmund was remembering the same day: the day he had said he would marry her?
He had not truly asked, and they were children then, but she had refused his kiss. Now, she wondered if she should have done so. She and Edmund had shared so many firsts.
“We were children,” she said confused. “I never thought…” She trailed off, her throat tight.
Traces of the old smile appeared on Edmund’s face as he studied her as if to memorize her every nuance.
“It was a long time ago,” she said lamely.
At last he spoke, so softly that she barely heard him. “I know, Anne. A moment like that can’t be recaptured.”
A sob rose in Anne’s throat, threatening to choke her. He was leaving, truly leaving. Somehow, she knew that once he passed through that door, he would step from her life. The friendship they had, whatever they shared, was gone now. Anger flared, smothering the agonized pain in her breast. What right did he have to end things this way? What right did he have to toy with her heart?
“I was tired of waiting, Ed,” she called after him as his hand found the doorknob.
Did his hand tremble as he wrenched open the door? Were there words frozen upon his lips, the way she held back a hundred, nay a thousand things she should have said a long time ago. The unsaid words clogged her throat, choking her, drowning her. The moment extended into forever.
At last he spoke.
“Goodbye Anne,” Edmund said softly, and just like that, he was gone.
18
Edmund was not sure how he managed to get himself from Anne’s presence at Aldbrick Abbey. Somehow, even though he felt as if every breath was painful, he collected his horse and rode from Anne’s house.
He found himself once again at the pub. Perhaps after a glass of brandy or two the pain of losing her would be less, he thought, as he ordered the drink. It was some time later when Harry Westlake entered the establishment.
“You look like the devil,” Harry told Edmund.
Edmund considered. His cravat hung loose. He had removed his jacket some time ago and rolled up his shirt sleeves. In any of the London establishments such a state of undress would be frowned upon, but here at the country pub, no one seemed to notice.
Edmund shrugged and ran a hand through his already messy hair. He could not quite bring himself to tell Harry what had happened. Not yet. “How did you find me?” Edmund asked.
“Your sister said I would most likely find you here,” Harry said. “I have news.”
“News?” Edmund repeated. The number of drinks he had consumed in the last hour had seemed to fog his brain.
“About Amberleigh. I have discovered some dirt on the man. Though I tell you it wasn’t easy,” Harry said. “He is actually rather discreet.” Harry waved the server over, and took a glass of brandy from in front of Edmund. “But not discreet enough.”
“It’s too late,” Edmund said. “If you had been here yesterday, or the day before, I might have been able to convince her to stop the wedding, but she told me she is going through with it.”
“It is decided? Anne is really going to marry him then?” Harry sipped the brandy and wrinkled his nose. “This brandy is terrible,” he said.
Edmund shrugged. Honestly, he was no longer tasting the spirit. He was drinking it for the burn and the oblivion he hoped it brought.
“About Anne?” Harry persisted. “What has happened?”
Edmund shook his head miserably. “She has decided. She is going to marry the sot.”
Harry smacked his hand on the table in frustration, causing the bottle of brandy to wobble, but Edmund saved it from falling and filled his glass again. “But what did you learn in London?”
“Amberleigh has a mistress,” Harry blurted.
Edmund took another sip of brandy to consider. He looked into the amber liquid and his thoughts eventually coalesced. “Anne would hate that,” he said.
“Yes,” Harry said. “I know my cousin. That might be enough to change her mind. We need to tell her. You need to tell her, Edmund.”
Edmund considered. He was not sure he could face her again. The brandy had been doing its work and dulling the pain. Now, he was considering reopening the wound. The last meeting had been so agonizing; he did not want to revisit the hurt. Besides, Anne seemed pretty set on the idea of marriage. He had always thought Anne would marry for love. He had always thought Anne would marry him. Now, he was not so sure of what drove her to this action. Unless she truly did love Amberleigh. Edmund could not bear the thought. The very notion sent a wave of disgust through him. Surely she did not, and yet she did not love him either. That was what brought the most pain. He could not see through to what she truly wanted. At one time he thought he could. Now, he did not know.
Alexander had said, if Edmund loved Anne, he would give her what she wanted to make her happy. Surely that could not be Amberleigh, especially if Amberleigh was already playing Anne false.
Edmund rolled the brandy around in his glass as if searching for inspiration. He remembered how the four friends, Alexander, Emily, Anne and himself, had sat on a rock at the lake giggling and discussing the forbidden topic of love. It had been years since they had all gone swimming together, but they had divested themselves of their shoes and stockings and the girls had hiked up their skirts in a most shocking manner. Anne had the tiniest feet and her second toe was just a bit longer than the first. He noticed that just before she immersed them in the water. The lake water was warm on their feet. It was the end of summer, the last summer before the girls went to finishing school.
The conversation grew serious when Alexander worried that his father had sired a bastard child. They had revisited the topic of infidelity and mistresses when his own, and Emily’s mother spent long months apart from their father and sent them to Sandstowe Hill with their aunt and uncle. The Ingram siblings had decided their parents did not love one another, but they did get along. They had discussed Anne’s own mother and father who seemed ever polite and proper, giving respect, but not love, to one another. They were certain of that fact.
Then they discussed the number of times they had all walked in on Uncle Cecil and Aunt Agnes’ passionate arguments…
And passionate kisses, Emily had added.
They all blushed and giggled wrinkling their noses at that. The conversation had been only weeks before Anne had left for finishing school, weeks before Edmund had spoken his ill-advised childish proposal and tried to kiss her. It had not mattered then. It did not matter now.
Give Anne what she wants, Alexander had said. What did Anne want? Edmund wondered. He did not know. He only knew it was not him.
He swallowed his half glass of brandy in one gulp before he spoke. “Truthfully, Harry, a mistress is probably not enough to stop the wedding, at least not in the eyes of Anne’s father. “
“What do you care about Anne’s father?” Harry asked.
“Lord Aldbrick hates me.” Edmund poured himself another drink and took a long swallow. “Always did.”
“But this is about Anne herself.”
“Anne does not love me.” Saying the words brought a new pain to Edmund’s heart, and yet the truth of it was necessary. He downed the glass of brandy, which did not seem to dull the pain at all. He breathed in a shaky breath and blinked to clear his sight. “What about this mistress?” he asked at last. “What
did you hear, Harry? Tell me.” This was not for his benefit, he told himself. This was to protect Anne from that scoundrel.
“I have it on dit that Amberleigh’s mistress is a longtime companion, not just a light skirt.” Harry leaned in. “Perhaps he is in love with her.”
Edmund shrugged. “I could give a tinker’s damn who Amberleigh loves,” he said his voice rising in anger. “It makes no bloody difference to me.”
“Ah, but it might to Anne,” Harry said.
Edmund considered that as he sipped his brandy. Then telling Anne would hurt her. He had no wish to hurt her. But wouldn’t it be better to know now? Before the wedding rather than after. If Amberleigh was a philandering cheat, which Edmund had no doubt he was, Anne should know sooner rather than later. He agreed with Harry on that count, but the pain of losing Anne was too new. He could not face her. Not yet. But she needed to know. Now was better than later. Every moment that he delayed would cause her more pain. He should save her that pain, if he could.
Edmund stood suddenly. He meant to tell the server he wanted paper and ink, but the movement made him feel dizzy and he watched the room tilt savagely to the left. He turned back to Harry and reached for the man’s arm to steady himself. It was too far away, and his hand fell heavily to the table between them, which grounded him. He sat back down rather abruptly. He realized he was drunk. Again. Getting drunk as a wheelbarrow was not in his nature. It truly wasn’t like him. At least it did not used to be. Edmund had been doing many things that were not like himself lately: letting go of Anne being chief among them.
He caught the servant’s attention and asked for paper and ink.
“Are you sure, Mr. Ingram?” the servant asked. “Perhaps you should wait until morning…”
“Just bring the blasted paper,” Edmund demanded raising his voice as he had never done to a servant.
The man bowed and returned shortly with the desired items.
Edmund would write a letter to Anne to tell her that Amberleigh was a terrible blackguard who kept a mistress while courting her. The man could not be trusted. At least that much, Edmund was sure was true. Edmund was resolute. Anne might not marry him. She might not love him, but she sure as blazes would not marry Amberleigh.
Edmund dipped the pen into the inkwell. It required two practice attempts to get the pen charged, but he finally did do it.
Dear Anne, he began to write, but Harry waggled a finger at him. “You are sending this anonymously, are you not?” Harry asked. “If you are so familiar she will know it is you.”
“Or you,” Edmund said as the ink dripped and blotted the page. He crumpled the paper and started again. It took all of his concentration to keep the letters from swimming off the paper, but he managed to warn Anne of the danger. When he was satisfied with the result, he waited a moment for it to dry. Then turned the letter over, and lacking sealing wax folded it over with exaggerated care.
“You!” he called the man over as he scribbled Anne’s name on the front of the letter. This must be taken to Miss Anne Albright at Aldbrick Abbey at once. See that she gets it right away. It’s a matter of life and death. To emphasize his point, Edmund gave the man a coin for his trouble. Edmund wasn’t sure, but it might have been a half-crown.
The man seemed most solicitous after that.
“Who told you that Amberleigh has a mistress, anyway?” Edmund inquired of Harry after the man left with the letter.
Harry did not speak right away.
“Harry, this was true, wasn’t it? Who told you?”
Harry didn’t answer immediately. “Someone who would know,” he said at last.
“It was some doxy, wasn’t it?” Edmund demanded. “You paid her didn’t you?”
“What does that matter?” Harry asked.
“If you paid the wench, she likely told you exactly what you wanted to hear,” Edmund said. “Was that the best you could do?”
“The man is careful,” Harry said. “It was practically impossible to get even this. He is nothing if not discreet.”
Edmund hesitated. “Are you sure that it is even true?” He said carefully.
“No,” Harry answered, “But it doesn’t have to be true. It just needs to be believable. Anne needs to believe it.”
Edmund agreed, but somehow lying to Anne left a bad taste in his mouth. He took another drink of brandy as if to chase away the bitterness. He didn’t like it, but if it brought Anne back to him, it would be worth it. If it kept Anne from marrying that ponce, it would be worth it.
19
One wouldn’t think that life could change so drastically with the arrival of a folded piece of paper upon a silver salver, but it had. Anne stared at the curved letters penned so dramatically on the page. In truth she could not read the missive at first through the sudden sheen of unshed tears. Anne knew at once who had sent it.
Edmund. Of course, Edmund had done this.
The random thought that his penmanship was still atrocious ran through her mind. She swiped hastily at her eyes, lifting her head enough that she might check to see if there was any untoward interest in her correspondence. Eliza was going through the morning post anxiously, and Anne felt just a moment of regret that she could not comfort her sister for the continued lack of correspondence from her gentleman. Anne carefully refolded the letter, as though the single piece of paper held nothing of import at all.
Anne rose, slipping the letter into her pocket with a hand that shook and threatened to drop the letter entirely. “Oh, Edmund,” she muttered, taking the letter to the privacy of her room. She opened it and perused it again.
Now that she was alone, Anne’s passion no longer needed to be held within. Tears began to flow down her face, and she dashed them away angrily. She did not even know why tears sprang to her eyes. Angry tears gave way to a frantic need to move. She would not cry. Why must Edmund plague and torment her so, creating chaos with every touch, with every missive? His very presence in her life made her confused. She looked at the letter again.
Lud, how deeply in his cups had Edmund been to write such a thing?
Anne crumpled the paper and threw it at the cold fireplace. It landed amongst the neatly piled tinder readied for the next damp and chill night. She wrenched the pillow from her bed and threw it against the opposite wall. It fell soundlessly. Of course, a silent tantrum was scarcely satisfying. A thrown candlestick was much better. It thudded most satisfactorily. She threw another, along with several baubles. After a few minutes, Anne looked in dismay about her room which moments before had been so neat and tidy. A scattering of pillows and bedclothes trailed from the bed to the wardrobe. Her clothing was strewn across the floor, and several small ornaments lay scattered upon the hearth.
It occurred to Anne that Lord Amberleigh would be appalled at the mess. Edmund would have helped her throw things. The thought made Anne smile, but she was somewhat chagrined that she had resorted to such a petty display of temper. She was a lady. Ladies did not do such things. She began picking up the items. She could have called a maid, but truthfully, she was a bit embarrassed by her outburst. She paused in replacing one of her favorite gowns back upon its hook and looked back at the missive lying by the tinderbox.
She picked up the letter again and straightened it on the table by the window, pressing her hands over it. Surely, this was not true. Lord Amberleigh was so prim and proper. He was always attentive and solicitous. Surely he would not do such a thing, and it was clear that Edmund was drunk when he wrote the letter.
Anne read it once again. This time, she figured out the full meaning, seeing not just Edmund’s words, but his emotion. After all, she had been there when Edmund first was learning to make his letters. He never had been careful with his penmanship, or particularly articulate…not like Lord Amberleigh who always said the sweetest things. The question remained, was there any truth to the missive? What if Edmund heard some bit of gossip? Hadn’t Molly said Amberleigh’s driver was sacked for some indiscretion? Might Edmund have been i
n earnest, seeing this letter as a solemn warning?
Was it possible that Lord Amberleigh had not been entirely forthcoming? What if he did have a mistress? The thought made Anne flush. She realized that with marriage would come intimacy with the man; a simple fact she had been studiously ignoring in this entire affair. Of course, such was the way of the world; a man and woman were expected to come together, that their progeny might become their legacy. She had already been a touch unsure about this aspect of things. Now, wondering whether or not Lord Amberleigh had already shared these intimacies with another left her feeling queer.
Would Anne be expected to step into the shoes of another who might not have been as…cold…to such actions as she herself felt? Surely, a mistress would…what? Lud, she could not think of this. She covered her face with her hands feeling the heat of a blush fill her face.
The thought of Amberleigh with a mistress, did not bring a rage of jealousy. What it did bring, was a wave of disgust. That he would attempt to marry her to manage his country estate, so she could be out of sight and he could do as he wished…No! She was condemning the man before she even heard his side of the story. Anne knew Edmund was rash. Was this simply a way to control her? Perhaps, but the thought of Amberleigh having a mistress made her wonder about her own feelings.
How should a wife feel about a mistress? Anne wanted love in her marriage; like Emily and Alexander had, like Emily’s Aunt Agnes and Uncle Cecil. As much as Anne found Lord Amberleigh amiable and even attractive, to kiss him still seemed odd, a thing from which to withdraw. But he had kissed her. Twice.
She thought about his last kiss. It was wet. And a little sloppy. He had held her immobile and pressed his lips firmly against her own. She had frozen at the contact, and he eventually he had desisted. Of course, it was maidenly to be rather shy in this regard, though she had seen Emily be much more demonstrative with her own husband. Why last Christmas, under the mistletoe... Anne blushed with the memory. In the latter days of their engagement Emily and Alexander had lacked a certain discretion.
The Viscount's Wayward Son: A Regency Romance (Ladies of the North Book 2) Page 19
