An Inconvenient Wife (38 page)

Anne closed the door behind
her and walked slowly to the gate, halting to look around for Banks. He must
have the lantern lit now that it was fully dark.

“I will escort you home,
Anne. I sent Banks back to the house.” Westcott moved from the shadows and
opened the shutters on the lantern in his hand. “I have been watching the
stars,” he explained at her questioning look. He placed his hand under her
elbow and started walking.

Shocked at his unexpected
appearance, Anne uttered the first thing to enter her mind. “It is
a
clear night.” Why was he here? Even through her cloak she could feel the heat
of his fingers, feel it spread an unwelcome warmth through her. She did
not
want to respond to his touch this way, when he seemed to do very well without
hers.

“You are out late.”

The quiet comment did not
sound
accusatory, but Anne tensed nevertheless. “I needed to see Maggie,” she said,
and winced inwardly at her defensive tone. What matter if she wanted to visit
Maggie at
midnight.
Not that she wanted to, but if she
did
….

The strained silence grew
unbearable. “I did not expect to see you this evening,” Anne said finally,
instantly regretting her choice of words. Now he would think she was
complaining, when she didn’t care one way or the other if he chose to dine from
home.
Oh, such a lie, Anne
.
Your problem is you care too much.

“My plans changed.”

Unable to think of a reply,
Anne trudged along mutely. Why should she carry the burden of conversation? Let
him say something if he wanted to talk. But it appeared he was no more inclined
to do so than she, and he did not speak again until they were at the house.

“If you will spare me a few
minutes before you retire?”

Anne glanced sideways at
him, trying to determine his mood. He did not look like he would take it well
if she refused, which was her preference.
Her
mood was such that she
would dissolve into tears or have a temper tantrum at the slightest
provocation, and believed she felt closer to anger than tears. Nevertheless,
she nodded her agreement and followed him into his study.

She perched on the edge of a
chair, refused his offer of sherry, and waited for him to tell her something
she did not want to hear. The knot of hair at her nape was in danger of
unraveling and she idly began pulling out the pins. Once loose, she ran her
fingers through the strands and rubbed the back of her head.

His gaze sharpened, and Anne
gave a mental shrug. If he thought she was being provocative, so be it. Let him
see what he was missing. Besides, this meeting was his idea, not hers.

He did not sit, instead
leaning against the back of the chair opposite, a glass of brandy clenched in
his hand. His face was taut with tension and weariness. The deep scratch on his
cheek was a vivid slash in the candlelight. Would it leave a scar? Perhaps
Maggie had a salve that might help.

“Anne.”

He sounded so impatient,
Anne thought, annoyed, then realizing he had said her name several times, she
flushed.

“I am rather tired this
evening,” she said in a cool voice and trusted her expression was equally cool.

“Yes.”

How one word could convey so
much was beyond her, and vastly irritating, the innuendo that straying from her
bed was the cause of her fatigue. Her lips tightened and she looked at him with
undisguised impatience.
Please, just get it said.

Her face apparently
reflected the unspoken thought, for he finished off his brandy and, staring
hard at the empty glass, said exactly what she was expecting.

“About last night, and our
other…encounter. This was not part of our agreement, and I apologize for my
lack of self-restraint. I will not allow it to happen again.”

Anne stared at the
grim-faced man in front of her and felt anger bubbling inside, felt it blot up
the seething mixture of hurt, humiliation, and indignation at being subject to
this rejection. Her legs trembling, she stood, looked him squarely in the eye,
and with a voice that surprised her, so even as it was, said, “
You
will
not allow another encounter, as you label our intimacy? This is a two-way
street, my lord. I
chose
to participate in the first and initiate the
second, with no regrets. Our
lovemaking
was
mutually
enjoyable,
however much you pretend otherwise.” One hand flew up in anger; the other
formed a tight fist at her side. “You need not worry about controlling your
manly urges, sir. I won’t trouble you in the future.” Scathing that last, and
she saw a nerve jump on his rigid jaw. Good. She was not the only one affected
by this insane confrontation.

Heartsick, Anne draped her
shawl on one shoulder. “Good night, Lord Westcott.”

She had her hand on the
latch when he spoke, his voice rough with some emotion she could not decipher,
though anguish came to mind.

“Camille was with child when
she died. It was not mine.”

Anne turned, slowly. The
bleak look in his eyes stripped away her anger, and shaken, she leaned against
the door.

“I am so sorry.” Anne
hesitated for a moment, then went on, softly. “It must have been dreadful for
you, coming on top of her death and Sarah’s injury. Will you tell me of it?”

Westcott refilled his glass,
with hands less than steady, she noted, half-expecting him to ignore her
question. Nor would she fault him for it. But he surprised her.

“I think I told you Camille
often spent several months at a time in Town. On this occasion, it was well
over three months, and Sarah sorely missed her mother. I’d written, of course,
asking her to come home. When I received no answer, and even her letters to
Sarah had stopped, I went to London to get her. She, however, was on her way
here. I cannot imagine how I missed her on the road, but I did, and arrived at
her parents’ house in London to find she was gone.”

He still stood at the
sideboard, staring at the glass turning in his hands and Anne made an involuntary
movement toward him, thought better of it, and resumed her stance by the door.
He
will not accept any sympathy, Anne. Let him tell it in his own time.

“What you don’t know is that
after Sarah was born, I
welcomed
Camille’s absences. Even though I’d
long since realized how unsteady she was, I did not know the depth of the
laudanum addiction or I would never have allowed her near Sarah. Camille was
very skilled at hiding it, which does not excuse me from ignoring all the
signs. Instead I pretended all was well and in doing so, failed her.”

“I have heard it is very
difficult to recover from such an addiction.”

Westcott swung around to
face her. “But not impossible. If I had insisted she seek help, if I had paid
more attention to her, been a better husband….”

Anne straightened. “What?
She would be alive and Sarah uninjured? You can’t know that, Nicholas,” she
said softly. “Would you have made Camille a prisoner in her own home? Abandoned
your tenants, your responsibilities at Westhorp, to a life in the city you
abhor? We all do the best we can with what we have. You can beat yourself with
a hundred ifs and it changes nothing.”

“I should have known,” he
said, without heat but with such conviction Anne knew her words hadn’t reached
him. She was not sure if anything she said would matter.
You have to try,
Anne. At least try.

“
You
were not the one
holding the reins, Nicholas, nor were you the one driving dangerously fast. You
feel your presence would have prevented the accident. Perhaps so, but what of
the next time, or the times after?” Anne’s voice gentled. “No one can take
responsibility for everyone else. Think about it.”

He made no attempt to
answer, and Anne quietly left the room. Perhaps he
would
give her words
some thought—but the scars were deep.
Not beyond healing. You simply need to
persist—and try not to get too badly stung in the process.

Chapter Thirty

“It has stopped raining.”

Sarah’s face was a picture
of determination. Anne swallowed a sigh. “It has. However, I have not yet had a
chance to tell your father about this.”

“You were not to tell him
anyway. I wanted it to be a surprise!” Sarah’s expression turned sulky. Anne
lifted her brows and stared at her until a sheepish “I’m sorry,” cheeped out
from under the fall of hair hiding the girl’s bent head.

“Grownups don’t always
appreciate surprises. You would do better to tell him yourself, or allow me to
do so,” Anne said.

“No, please don’t! Let me
try it first. Then I will tell him, I promise.”

Anne hesitated, reluctant to
disturb Westcott any more than he already was. Last night’s disclosure had left
her reeling, and she could scarcely imagine how he felt after living with
Camille’s betrayal all these years.

“Very well, although I have
my doubts about the wisdom of this. You may sit on the pony for a few minutes.”

Sarah threw her arms around
Anne’s neck, hugged her tightly, and then turned to dangle her legs over the
side of the bed. “Thank you. Guy can bring Polly into my garden like he has
other days.” She watched as Anne laced the special boot, then wiggled her foot
into the most comfortable angle and slid from the bed to stand on her good leg.

“I feel stronger every day,”
Sarah said as she positioned her crutches, her forehead furrowed in
concentration. Anne stood behind her, poised to offer a steadying hand, but
Sarah handled the crutches easily.

“If you don’t want the
entire household to know about your mobility, Sarah, use your chair. Banks and
another of the footmen will carry you and the chair down, as they usually do,
and I will send word to Mr. Fenton to bring Polly to the garden.”

Anne turned to Danielle, who
was a patient, and silent, spectator to all this. “Will you please wrap the
crutches in a blanket and bring them along to the garden?”

Anne wanted this over with
as quickly as possible. She had few doubts of Sarah’s ability to sit safely on
a horse for a short time. She did not, however, relish the idea of Westcott
learning of it from a servant.

The sun emerged from the
remaining clouds just as they entered the garden, which Sarah immediately
declared “a good sign and so much nicer than a gloomy day.” Waiting just long
enough to be sure the footmen had reentered the house, she stood and took the
crutches from Danielle.

“Do take care, Sarah.”
Danielle hovered around the younger girl, ready to help, but like Anne, found
it unnecessary. The girls navigated along the path to the outside gate without
any problem, and Danielle undid the latch to allow Bill and the pony to enter.

Sarah was radiant with
happiness, and Anne stifled her qualms in the face of the child’s pleasure.
Surely Westcott would not deny the child such joy. She was not at risk of
anything but her pride if it proved too frightening for her.

“Now here’s the way of it,
Miss Blackwell,” Bill explained to her. This saddle and the stirrup for your
bad foot were special made just for you. We’ve talked about it before.”

“I know. Once I get used to
riding, I can use my knees to help tell Polly what to do. I remember, Mr.
Fenton,” Sarah said, bubbling with excitement. She scratched the pony’s
forehead. “We will be fine, won’t we Polly?”

“Here we go then.” Bill
grasped her waist, waited until Danielle had taken the crutches, and lifted
Sarah onto the saddle.

Anne stood beside the pony’s
head with a hand on the bridle, although Polly was a placid creature and
disinclined to make any sudden moves. The rapt expression on the child’s face
whilst Bill adjusted the stirrups to the right length, and locked the fitted
side around Sarah’s boot, made all the long hours of exercise worth every
minute.

“This should hold steady,
Miss, so you won’t be jarring your foot, but the more you use your knees the
better it will be. Now just be sitting there until you get the feel of him
under you.” Fenton placed the reins in Sarah’s hands and showed her how to hold
them correctly.

Sarah sat very straight and
looked around, not a trace of fear on her face. “It is quite high, Danielle,
but very nice. You must try it.”

“Someday I will,” Danielle
said, looking every bit as proud as Sarah at this accomplishment.

Anne believed she had never
seen Danielle look so happy. If nothing else, bringing these girls together was
a good thing.

“May we walk a little, Mr.
Fenton? Just a few steps?” Sarah coaxed, but she looked toward Anne.

“That’s up to her ladyship.”
Fenton waited for an answer, plainly agreeable either way.

Anne looked at Sarah’s face,
wide-eyed with hope, and relented. “A few steps, just enough so you can feel
the movement, then down you come.” She led Polly forward a short distance. No
more than a few strides, it was enough for Sarah to experience the rocking
motion and she giggled with delight.