Hazelhurst (The Families 0f Dorset Book 4)

by Martha Keyes

  Splat.

  Tobias went still, and the mud slid down his cheek under wide, startled eyes. He put a hand to the mud and then pulled it away to inspect it in the dusky light of twilight. He looked to the mud and then to Anne and then back to the mud and back to Anne.

  Suddenly her decision seemed foolish in the highest degree. She scrambled backward and raised herself from the ground as Tobias reached for his own handful of mud.

  "No, no, no," Anne said, backing away. Her dress clung to her legs, and the chill of the evening air heightened her awareness of just how much of her dress was wet.

  "Tit for tat, Anne," he said in a warning voice, slowly raising himself from the ground with his eyes trained on her.

  She shook her head rapidly, but he cocked his arm back with an impish grin.

  She turned on her heel, lifted her skirts, and fled, hearing the smacking sound of mud hit the ground just behind her. Laughing, she turned her head to glance over her shoulder, seeing Tobias in pursuit.

  She could hear the sounds of his footsteps getting closer, and yet the sopping state of her dress inhibited her movement even more than usual, as the fabric clung stubbornly to her legs. Sending another glance back over her shoulder, she was just in time to see Tobias reach for her hand, taking hold of it and pulling her to a stop as he gave it a tug and caused her to spin around toward him.

  She tried mightily to escape, but he pulled her toward him, wrapping his arms around her waist and tightening his grip to prevent her from escaping, as she laughed through gulps of air.

  "You had an unfair advantage!" she cried breathlessly, trying to push off of his chest with her arms as he laughed down at her.

  "All the more reason your decision to throw mud at me was incomprehensible! I could hardly let such a slight go unchallenged."

  She laughed and gave another push to extricate herself. "Release me!"

  "Can I trust you enough to release you?" he said significantly, through his own laughter.

  She stopped struggling and donned the most pious and genuine expression she could, nodding and looking him in the eye, though a smile trembled on her lips and finally broke through.

  "I don't trust you for a second," he said, though his grip relaxed slightly as he stared down at her through his grin, reaching a finger to wipe at a spot of mud on her brow.

  Their chests both rose and fell rapidly as they looked at one another, and Anne's smile flickered, her stomach filling with sudden fluttering. She watched as the same realization dawned upon Tobias—his grin slackening slightly as his eyes searched hers and his throat bobbed. His eyes traveled to her lips, and Anne's breath came even more rapidly.

  His grip loosened suddenly, and she fell away from him as he looked toward the end of the lane where the lighted windows of Hazelhurst could be seen.

  "The apple pie," he said. “I can almost smell it.”

  Anne forced a laugh, trying to dispel the heady feeling that lingered, and they resumed the walk toward Hazelhurst, side by side, but not arm in arm as they had been when they had left it earlier that afternoon. As palpable as the tension had been in the air for a moment, the abrupt dispelling of it was even more so—and not all of Tobias's lighthearted conversation about Mrs. Turner and the pie—was it an attempt to distract her or him?—could erase the awareness of what had just passed.

  They were in new territory. New, confusing, and unknown territory that Anne wanted desperately to venture into and yet just as desperately to flee from.

  What muddle had she gotten herself into? And how in the world could she extricate herself from it?

  * * *

  Knowing Anne's love of her apple pie, Cook had held off on assembling it until she knew that they had returned. Anne was still enough on edge after cleaning up and dressing for dinner, though, that she hardly took note of the fact that she was not the first to enter the drawing room in preparation to go in for dinner.

  Louisa was there, and she almost looked strange, absent a baby in her arms. Tobias was there, too, and Anne noted his presence with a little hitch in her throat, nervous to see how he would act after their walk home from the village.

  But he spread his hands out to display himself with a self-satisfied smile, saying, "The first between us to arrive, as you see. I am very much looking forward to enjoying the entire pie."

  Anne felt relief flood through her. She didn't think she could handle navigating awkwardness between her and her husband on top of the tangled emotions she was attempting to unravel and decide what to do with.

  "I wish you joy of it," she said with an amused smile, walking over to Louisa and greeting her.

  James was being cared for by one of the maids—and had apparently created quite a stir among the servants who were thrilled to have such a novelty in their midst—and so the three of them were able to dine undisturbed, Anne trying to guide the conversation into avenues that wouldn't be fraught with the likelihood of Louisa's husband being mentioned.

  When the pie was brought in, Tobias sent Anne a teasing glance which she returned in full force when the plate was placed between her and Louisa rather than by Tobias.

  As it turned out, though, Tobias was far too kind to demand that they abide by the rules they had set down earlier, and the three of them were served up equal portions of the pie.

  Tobias took his first bite, and his eyes widened and stayed trained on Anne as he chewed. He swallowed and then set his fork down on the table with a thud. "I hereby and irrevocably rescind my offer to share this with you," he said.

  Anne’s only response was to scoop another spoonful quickly into her mouth.

  Tobias declined to sit alone with his port, instead insisting upon arranging for Louisa's transportation to the village. Anne watched with an appreciative smile as he prepared Louisa for the vivacity of the family she would be joining and as he bid goodbye to baby James, who was wide awake and cooing adorably when he was brought into the drawing room after dinner.

  Tobias shook James's hand formally and reassured him that he would be calling upon him soon, to which James responded with a trembling bottom lip and a slight whimper, drawing laughs from Anne and Louisa and a look of great offense from Tobias.

  * * *

  The following day, Anne instructed Mrs. Pinborough to gather any spare items of clothing in the house and to have the kitchen maids put together a basket of produce which could be given to the Turners as a token of gratitude and appreciation for their willingness to assist Louisa. Anne sent one of the maids to deliver it, with one note for Mrs. Turner and one for Louisa.

  The air was turning colder with each passing day, and the leaves beginning to burst forth with a spectrum of color that sent a thrill of admiration through Anne whenever she ventured outside.

  Tobias seemed to be spending more time at home than usual, and things between them were cordial and playful, even if they never approached the familiarity of the walk home earlier that week. The physical distance between them never closed enough to allow them to touch, and the effect was to heighten Anne's awareness of the gap and how much she wished for it to close.

  She was bemused and mystified by what she was feeling. She recognized some of the excitement and anticipation from the days when she had been courting Anthony, and yet that was the only resemblance between the emotions she felt now and what she had felt then.

  Courting Anthony had been all frenzy and urgency—infatuation with the feeling of being loved by someone as charming and handsome as Anthony. Anne had been so caught up in his words and affection that she had barely paused for introspection regarding her own feelings and what lay at their root.

  She couldn't help but feel sick as she reflected on that time now, as she contrasted it with what she was feeling in her marriage to Tobias. She had assumed that her first marriage had been a love match. But it was beginning to become apparent that she had mistaken a love of feeling loved for the emotion itself.

  Of course, she did feel a similar buzzing of nerves and skippin
g of her heart when she was with Tobias. And yet, it was so much more than that. It was seeing him—seeing more than the appearance and veneer that was obvious to anyone who met him and catching glorious glimpses of what lay behind that.

  There was so much behind it, and with every flash of understanding she gained about her husband, her desire to know him more increased.

  It terrified her, knowing that, despite her best intentions, her heart was opening itself to Tobias of its own accord—setting him up within its confines and granting him access to its most tender parts—parts that were still bruised from her last marriage. She had no idea how to stop the progress of her feelings, and it gave her a sensation similar to the one she'd had when Tobias had scooped her up in his arms and began running down the village road: barreling ahead with Anne powerless to prevent the inevitable fall and resulting pain.

  It was with such troubling thoughts that Anne walked the same village road, a basket of pears and apples on her arm, and glanced at the infamous puddle—now shrunk with the lack of rain over the past few days.

  She could have sworn Tobias's impulse had been to kiss her, just as hers had been to kiss him. For a moment, she let her mind explore what it would be like to kiss Tobias, but she could feel the heat steal into her cheeks and a return of the intoxicated feeling from that moment, and she shook it off determinedly. He would have kissed her if he had wished to.

  Quick footsteps sounded behind her as she approached the village, and she turned around, her blush deepening when she saw Tobias jogging toward her, holding a sack in his hand which bulged with whatever round objects were within.

  He smiled and slowed as he came up to her. "You forgot these," he said, holding up the bag. "Potatoes."

  "Oh," Anne said. "The maid must have forgotten to set them with the rest of the food. I am very sorry to have troubled you."

  Tobias shrugged. "I needed to stretch my legs—been in the study all morning going over accounts—so I told her I was happy to bring them." He looked up ahead to the village. "Shall we?"

  Tobias had spent the entire morning going over accounts? That was news indeed, and Anne didn't know what to make of it.

  She nodded, and they continued their walk, exchanging greetings with a few of the villagers they passed by. They swapped sympathetic glances as they heard the sound of James's cry wafting through the window panes. "Poor little chap," Tobias said, rapping on the door.

  One of the Turner children answered it, welcoming them into the room that functioned as a sort of sitting room and dining area, with a well-worn couch, an equally used chair, and a wood table with mismatching chairs and stools surrounding it.

  One of the Turner children took Anne's and Tobias's burdens, leaving them to make themselves comfortable with the others in the room.

  Louisa sat at the table, bouncing an unhappy James on her knee, and a man stood behind her with his back to the door, a top hat set soundly on a head of thick brown hair, and a well-tailored coat of dark blue superfine hugged his shoulders and arms tightly.

  Anne checked at the threshold of the room. She blinked twice, but it didn't dispel the impossible view before her.

  "We've had an unexpected and very happy visit," said Mrs. Turner.

  The man standing beside Louisa turned around, and Anne froze, her head suddenly feeling unsteady on her shoulders.

  Anthony.

  He met her flickering gaze with his own steady but wary one.

  "Lady Anne, Mr. Cosgrove," said Louisa, beaming as she glanced from her baby to the man beside her, "allow me to introduce you to my husband, Nicholas Hackett."

  Anne swallowed, putting a hand on Tobias's arm to stabilize her.

  He glanced down at her, a frown on his face. "What is it?" he said softly.

  Anne's head shook from side to side, and she turned, putting a hand over her mouth and saying, "I cannot," before fleeing through the front door.

  13

  Tobias watched in bafflement as his wife fled the room.

  He turned to Mrs. Turner and the others in the room. "Please excuse me. I fear my wife must be ill." He nodded at them and followed after Anne.

  She was standing in the middle of the village road, one hand on her hip, the other covering her mouth, as she paced back and forth, shaking her head.

  "Anne," he said, coming up to her and putting a hand on her arm as he stooped to scan her face, which had taken on a pale hue. "Are you unwell?"

  She shook her head rapidly, looking into his eyes with her own, stricken brown ones. "It's him."

  "Who?"

  "Anthony. Louisa's husband." She clamped her eyes shut and turned her face away.

  Tobias could only stare at her, bemused by her obvious agitation—this woman who was always so collected and in control of herself. What in the world had happened to bring on such a strange fit?

  "Anne," he said, putting a hand to her cheek and guiding her to look at him. "You aren't making any sense."

  She put her head back, shutting her eyes again and letting a gush of air through her nose. "I didn't tell you when Louisa came. She is the woman who was married to Anthony before me—to Nicholas Hackett."

  Tobias reared back. "What?"

  Anne bit her top lip, nodding with her brows drawn together tightly. "You and I had never talked about my last marriage"—she threw her hands down—"whatever you want to call it. I knew I needed to help Louisa and James, but I hadn't the courage to tell you that I knew the man who had abandoned them; that it was the man who did the same thing to me."

  The door to the Turners opened, and Nicholas Hackett stepped out, ducking his head to avoid hitting the top of the doorway with his hat. This was the man who had left Anne without a word? Who had duped her into marrying him when, all the while, he had already been married to the woman inside?

  He wore the clothing of a gentleman and carried himself like one, too. Tobias might well have seen him walking out of White's or Brooks's. And yet his wife sat inside the Turner's home, attired in the clothing of someone whose concerns were where food would come from the next day rather than which cloth would best set off their physique to advantage.

  "Anne," said the man, approaching them with a slow and wary gait. "Please. Let me explain."

  Anne stepped backward, and Tobias watched her trying to regain her composure enough to face the man before her.

  Tobias stepped forward, putting a light hand to the man's chest to block his path. "Sir," he said, "you are addressing my wife, and yet I find I have not the pleasure of your acquaintance."

  Mr. Hackett’s eyes watched Anne for a moment, a hint of concern in them, but he met Tobias's gaze head on. "My name is Nicholas Hackett."

  A gush of disgust emanated from Anne behind Tobias. "I am afraid neither my wife nor I are acquainted with anyone by that name."

  The man peered over Tobias's shoulder again. "Anthony," he said softly, glancing at Tobias. "She knows me as Anthony. I never meant to hurt you, Anne. Let me explain."

  The sound of this man—this coward—calling her by her name, acting toward her with such familiarity; Tobias's teeth gritted together and, almost without his permission, he took a step back, his fist flying into the man's jaw.

  Anne gasped as Mr. Hackett stumbled to the side, both hands cupping his jaw as his hat tumbled to the ground.

  A villager down the street came running up, but Tobias put a hand out to stop him. "All is well. Please leave us be."

  The man looked doubtfully at Mr. Hackett, hunched over a few yards away, but he nodded and turned back to his house.

  "Have the goodness to refrain from addressing my wife with such familiarity, sir," Tobias said to Mr. Hackett, rubbing his burning knuckles.

  Mr. Hackett rose back to his full height, one hand still nursing his injury, the other holding his errant hat. "She deserves to know the truth," he said.

  "Somehow I harbor grave doubts that she can expect it from you," Tobias returned in a biting tone. "Leave, sir, or I shall have no compunction about p
roviding you with a second injury to match the first."

  "Let him speak, Tobias." Anne's voice was soft but steady. She stood tall and elegant, but her face suddenly looked tired and drawn. It was so far from the smiling, joyful one he had come to know.

  He tried to ignore the way it bothered him that Anne wished to hear the man out. What could he possibly say that she would wish to hear? Tobias wished for nothing more than to send Mr. Hackett on his way with another blow—there was something about the man which inspired him with intense dislike—but Anne didn't wish it. He clenched his fists, ignoring how the cold air stung his knuckle where the skin had broken, and nodded.

  Should he leave them to have their conversation in private? For some reason, the thought stung more painfully than his knuckle.

  "I will be inside," he said curtly to his wife.

  "Stay," she said, putting a hand out and grasping his. "Please," she said.

  He swallowed and nodded.

  "What is it, Mr. Hackett?" she said. "Say what you wish to say. Only be brief, if you please."

  Mr. Hackett shot a glance at Tobias before speaking. "I'm afraid that to be brief will be to court misunderstanding. There is a long history to all of this."

  "Nevertheless," Anne said, "I ask you to be brief."

  He grimaced. "Very well. I was born the illegitimate, unrecognized son of a peer, made to scrape by to survive while my father and his family lived in the lap of luxury. My story is not uncommon, as I am sure you know. But it led me to harbor great anger toward my father and others like him. Through great sacrifice, I have been able to rise from the depths to which my father condemned me. But the anger has never left.

  "I came to know of your father"—he inclined his head at Anne—"through various acquaintances, one of whom was his illegitimate son who, like me, was left to fend for himself and his mother. Unlike me, though, Childress met an unhappy end, dying in King’s Bench of consumption. I was with him the day he died.”