An Inconvenient Wife (14 page)

Anne hurriedly stood and
matched him glare for glare. “Before the ceremony would have been a good time,”
she threw at him in a scathing voice. “No wonder you wanted me to sign the
marriage documents first.”

“A courtesy,” he bit out.
“My name
is
Nicholas Blackwell.” He let out a long breath. “There was so
little time.” Then, a more quiet, “Would it have made any difference?” The
answer was important to him, he realized. Cursing himself for a fool, he still
waited impatiently for her reply.

The temper eased from her
face as she stared up at him. An expression he could not decipher touched her
eyes before she moved aside, walked across the room, then turned to face him.
“No, I still would have married you, if that is what you are asking.” She
lifted her hands in a weary gesture and then dropped them to her sides. “I
would have preferred honesty.”

Her eyes held what?
Reproach? Sorrow? He disliked whatever it was, and his voice was harsh with
accusation. “As you were honest with me, Anne? I’ve yet to hear why you were in
Portugal in the first place, nor a mention of the trouble you are in.” He
hesitated at her sharp gasp, but seemed unable to halt voicing a last sarcastic
question. “Would you care to tell me now, my lady?”

White-faced, her hands
visibly shaking, Anne met his mocking gaze straightly. “It seems neither of us
can lay claim to honesty, my lord. I prefer, however, to discuss this at
another time. Now, if you will excuse me.” The last was a choked whisper, and
she disappeared into her bedchamber before he could respond.

“Dammit to hell!” Blackwell
shoved his hands into his pockets and kicked at a convenient ottoman.
Which
is beyond childish, Westcott, nor particularly productive of anything but a
sore foot.
So much for your vaunted control.
No more. From now on he
would keep her at a distance, as he’d intended to do all along. This forced
proximity had made it difficult, but once at Westhorp, they need rarely to
meet. Pleased with this determination, Blackwell stalked out of the suite, and
with a shrug, discounted the niggling little feeling that avoiding her might be
less easy than he would wish.

~* * *~

That Anne was still in a
state of shock when the coach turned onto the long drive that led to Westhorp
was in no way an exaggeration. Between Westcott’s revelation, the opulent
coach, and the overwhelming deference paid to them—not to mention the veritable
din of “My ladys,” she felt battered and beset by unruly currents beyond her
control. Stung by Westcott’s icy demeanor since their conversation the previous
day, tired from a sleepless night and the effort to reassure Danielle and Guy,
it only needed this to cap the end of a perfectly wretched day—
this
being the sight of the house, mansion, palace, whatever she chose to call it,
ahead. Anne’s strangled laugh earned a sharp look from Maggie and a frightened
glance from Danielle. Aware of it, she forced a smile.

“We have arrived at our
destination, I believe. Won’t it be nice to stretch our legs?” Her overly
cheerful tone was received with identical frowns. Anne grimaced and turned her
attention to the footman letting down the steps. Thank heavens Westcott had
spared her from the ordeal of greeting the entire staff on arrival.

The wind tugged at her hat,
and she raised a hand to secure it. Bonnie barked shrilly in Guy’s arms, asking
to get down, Danielle hovered behind and Maggie stood glowering at them all.
Anne looked around for Westcott. No more Nicholas, even in her mind. For all
his faults—and the list was growing—he was not one to shirk his duties.
If
seeing them into this monstrosity did not count as a duty in his eyes, it
certainly did in hers.
But her ill thoughts were unmerited. Westcott halted
his horse behind the coach, dismounted, and after speaking briefly with Bill
Fenton, handed the reins to a groom and walked toward her. A few words
dispatched all but two of the footmen, the coach rumbled away, and he held out
his arm to Anne.

“Madam.”

Anne stared at him for a
moment, then clamped her hat down more securely. She laid her hand on his arm
and took Danielle’s hand with the other. Her heart thumping in her breast, a
sick feeling in her stomach, Anne walked up the long flight of stairs to a wide
landing, where a black-clad, solemn-faced butler—so she supposed—waited. He
bowed as they drew near, intoned “Lord Westcott, Lady Westcott,” and turned to
precede them into the house.
Intone, Anne? You have been reading too many
gothic novels.
She covered a laugh with a cough, and heartened by the
ridiculously irrelevant thought, was able to greet the housekeeper in an easy
manner, acknowledge the butler, Martin, with a stately nod, and smile at the
two housemaids awaiting her orders. What orders, she was not sure, and she
swallowed another chuckle. This was idiotic; they were simply people after all,
and she released Westcott’s arm.

“Bonnie needs a run, sir,
and Guy as well, I think. Might someone take them outside for a bit?”

Westcott nodded toward the
younger of the footmen. 

“Banks has brothers. Guy
will find him agreeable.”

“The language? Guy has a
little English, but….”

“They will manage.”

Anne bent to ask Guy if he
was willing and was pleased to see him go off without any hesitation.  A
pleasure instantly erased by Westcott’s next comment.

“I must go. Mrs. Lawson will
show you to your rooms and see to your needs.”

“Go?” Westcott was leaving?
Going off with them scarcely introduced to the household?

“Yes, I am going to get
Sarah. Since it may be somewhat late when we return, introductions can wait
until tomorrow.” He moved away as he spoke, his impatience obvious.

Dismayed by the realization
of how much she had depended on his presence, Anne schooled her face into calm
acceptance. “Yes, of course.” Her confidence ebbing, it was all she could
manage.

Refusing to watch him leave,
Anne turned to the housekeeper, who along with the other staff, appeared keenly
interested in the proceedings.
Begin as you mean to go on, Mama used to say.
However unwanted the position, you are the mistress here.
Mrs. Lawson did
not appear hostile—more that she reserved judgment. Aware of how important this
woman’s approval was, Anne smiled at her and asked quietly, “If you will have
someone show us to our rooms? We are all longing for a rest after the journey.”

“Travel is tiring, my lady,”
Mrs. Lawson agreed, starting toward the staircase that swept up in a graceful
curve for several floors. “I will take you up myself. We had so little notice
that the rooms aren’t aired out as well as I’d like, but then they are seldom
used and it’s no more than a bit of dust.”

“I am sure it will be fine,”
Anne murmured. Was the housekeeper annoyed at the short notice? Hard to tell.
She and Danielle trailed along behind her, trying not to gawk at the statuary
that graced the landing. Tapestries hung on the walls behind and she promised
herself she would examine them more closely another time.

Now she stepped through the
door held open by the housekeeper and a gasp escaped her. The huge room was
awash with colour, from the palest green of the silk-covered walls to the deep
rose of the draperies that hung at the windows. A four- posted bed wore a
lemon-yellow canopy of some frothy material Anne didn’t recognize, and the
jeweled tones in the paintings so complemented the multi-toned palette that she
wondered if the décor had been chosen to emphasize them.

“How lovely. Such beautiful
colours!” They
were
gorgeous, although it must be like living in a
rainbow. An opinion she knew better than to voice. “A marvelous room,” Anne
said brightly. Mrs. Lawson beamed as if she were personally responsible.
Perhaps she was, or was this remaining from the first Lady Westcott? An
uncomfortable thought quickly dispelled by the housekeeper’s next remark.

“The master had it done over
last year. He and Miss Sarah designed it together. Hours, they spent on it.
There is a sitting room adjoining.” Mrs. Lawson pointed to a door to one side.
“The bathing chamber is opposite.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Lawson. I
am looking forward to becoming acquainted with this beautiful house.” She
smiled, stripped off her gloves, and dropped her hat on the bed. Danielle still
stood by the door, wide-eyed and wary. Anne went to her, and arm around her
shoulder, led her into the room.

“Will you tell me what
arrangements have been made for Miss Durant and her brother? They will stay
with me tonight, but after that? No, on second thought, you can tell me
tomorrow.” Ignoring Mrs. Lawson’s expression of disapproval, Anne asked that a
trundle be sent up, along with some hot water and a light meal, and as
tactfully as possible she urged the housekeeper away. She refused to send these
exhausted and frightened children off to sleep alone in distant rooms.

Anne glanced at yet another
door, which she assumed led to Westcott’s suite. Later she would look to see if
it was locked; although, if there was one thing certain in this new life, her
husband had no plans to use it. Still not sure how she felt about it, Anne
coaxed Danielle into a nightdress and settled her in a chair. The water,
trundle and a talkative Guy naturally arrived all at once. A flurry of activity
then, but Anne was soon able to dismiss the eager housemaids and once Guy was
readied for bed, they enjoyed a quiet meal.

Too weary even for a story,
the children were soon asleep. As she should be, but tired as she was, her mind
was too full of confusing impressions and thoughts. She missed Maggie, who had
been whisked off to heavens knew where in this huge house. She missed their
nightly conversation and Maggie’s pithy opinions. Anne stared at the canopy
above her head. The one other time she had slept in a canopied bed was when
they were billeted in that drafty castle in Austria. A bed so musty and replete
with ominous rustlings in the mattress she had ended up on the floor.
You
won’t find that here, where everything appears to be perfect, and she drifted
off to sleep at last, wondering
if
she could live up to that standard—or
wanted to.

~* * *~

The stricken expression in
Anne’s eyes haunted Westcott throughout the drive to Lynton Hall. It
was
ill done of him, but he felt another hour away from Sarah beyond him. Anne would
be fine. She was a competent woman, and she has the children for company,
another matter that needed more reflection. What in heaven’s name was he going
to do about Danielle and Guy? All very well to claim them as his wards, but the
legalities of it? Wrested from everything familiar, could they adjust to life
here? If only Juliette and St. Clair had accompanied him! He would not be a
married man and the Durants would be St. Clair’s problem.

Westcott was still brooding
over it while he waited to be announced, a useless formality in his eyes, since
he knew this house almost as well as Westhorp, but Jarvis took it as a personal
affront if he made his own way. He was shown into a cheerfully appointed room
he knew to be Juliette’s parlour and, indeed, she was rising to greet him as he
entered.

“Don’t get up,” Westcott
ordered. He walked across the room and gently pushed her back into her chair.

Juliette looked at him, a
playful smile on her lips and her eyes bright with amusement. “Not you, too!
St. Clair hovers around me like a mother hen. Pregnancy is not a disease!”

“Someone needs to watch over
you, or I’d find you involved in who-knows-what activities unwise for a woman
in your condition.” St. Clair strolled in, a complacent smile on his face, and
nodded to Westcott. “Good to see you, Nick, back in one piece, and reasonably,
if not entirely, unscathed, I hear.”

“You could say that, I
suppose,” Westcott returned, “since
you
are not encumbered by a bevy of
new dependants.”

Grinning at the mild
sarcasm, St. Clair joined his wife on the settee. “Sarah is having a light
supper, so sit a minute. We had your letter, of course, and understand we are
to wish you happy.”

“Rather unexpected,”
Juliette murmured.

Disarmed by her expression
of interest and sympathy, Westcott smiled reluctantly and took a seat. “One
could say that, too.” He lifted a hand, dropped it and leaned back. “A few
minutes, then. I’m anxious to see Sarah. How did she go on?”

Juliette laughed. “Sarah has
enchanted the entire household, and she and St. Clair’s mother are bosom
buddies. I think you will find Mother Lynton on your doorstep quite frequently
in the future.” She rested her hands on her lap and bent forward. “It has been
good for Sarah, Nicholas. The doctor has been in several times and declared her
very well.”

Westcott pushed away a
sudden and completely selfish feeling of hurt.
You should be pleased and not
disgruntled because she got along without you.
He buried the churlish
thought, looked at the two expectant expressions in front of him, and this
time, his smile was warm. “Thank you for your care. Lady Lynton is welcome at
any time.” He put his hands together and tapped his fingers against his chin.
“Although my household may be somewhat chaotic for a time, with the addition of
two children, a wife, and the couple who attend her.”