An Inconvenient Wife (39 page)

“Oh, this is so much fun,
Mother Anne. Thank you.”

“It is your achievement,
Sarah. We may have helped but it took your determination to be successful. Now,
give me the reins and allow Mr. Fenton to.…”

“What the
devil
are
you doing?”

“Oh, Papa! I wanted to
surprise you!”

“You have certainly done
so,” Westcott said, grim-faced, striding toward them. Dressed in buff breeches,
a coat of darker brown, and a white shirt opened at the neck, he looked so
comely it stole Anne’s breath away. He also looked furious.

Of the four of them, only
Bill Fenton had the presence of mind to act normally, lifting Sarah from the
pony and seating her in her chair. Anne felt rooted to the ground and Danielle
looked like she wanted the earth to swallow her.

Anne braced for a tirade,
but to his credit—and admirable restraint—Westcott stooped beside his daughter
and said calmly, “You seem to be having an adventure, muffin.” He glanced at
the crutches clutched in Danielle’s arms. “Several adventures, it seems.”

Sarah’s smile faded. “Are
you angry? I wanted to do it so very much. Walk some and sit on a pony, I
mean.”

“Now why would I be angry at
such a fine thing? I do wish you had told me about it so I could have helped.”
He touched her cheek lightly and stood. “I think it might be wise to rest after
your exertions, don’t you? I will come up to see you shortly. Danielle, find
Banks or one of the footmen to take Sarah upstairs.”

“Yes, sir,” Danielle gasped,
and ran off, the crutches banging awkwardly against her legs.

“Fenton, take the pony back
to the stables.” Pointedly ignoring Anne, Westcott turned the wheeled chair and
started pushing a subdued Sarah towards the house.

He is saving the tongue-lashing
for you, Anne. At least he had the presence of mind not to spoil it for the
child.
Anne was grateful for that and since she already felt
guilty for keeping this from him, was willing to shoulder the blame.

She walked behind him,
tempted though she was to turn and make her escape though the garden gate, but
why put off the inevitable? Besides, she wanted to know why he had returned
earlier than expected. Had Westcott and St. Clair found out anything that
touched on the situation? Maybe it
was
the Major hiding out and they had
caught him and sent him packing. Recognizing this for the fantasy it was, Anne
brushed a kiss on Sarah’s cheek and stood back to allow Banks to pick her up.

“Tell Papa it is my fault,”
Sarah whispered in her ear.

Anne smiled. “Go and have
your rest, child. Your father and I will visit with you later.” She watched as
Banks mounted the stairs with Sarah in his arms, so aware of the man standing
beside she could
feel
his anger.

“Madam. My study, now.”

The order was imbued with
such restrained anger that Anne’s heart quailed. Reluctantly, she followed him
into the room she had grown to dislike intensely, as nothing pleasant seemed to
occur in it.

Stone-faced, Westcott went
to stand behind his desk and braced a hand on the surface. Anne considered the
disadvantages of having him loom over her and chose a high-backed chair to lean
against, as much to support her weak legs as to hide.
Although hiding was an
appealing idea. Take to your bed for a few days, until he was over his fit of
temper.

“How
dare
you?”

His scathing voice scoured
her skin and her grip on the chair tightened as his rage poured over her.

“You deliberately put my
daughter in jeopardy. Every movement she makes on those crutches endangers
her—not to mention getting on a pony! I suppose you expect her to ride as well.
Perhaps careen around the countryside,” he sneered, distain in every line of
his rigid body.

“You come here, change
everything, turn the household on its end, have sing-a-longs and God knows what
else and I allowed it, tolerated it for Sarah’s sake. I entrusted her to your
care and in return I find you helped her to do this
knowing
I would
object,” he shouted bitterly

Anne flinched, but still
preferred the honest anger to the controlled fury. “She is in no more danger
than any child in this world; less than many.”

Westcott straightened and
took a step toward her, hands fisted at his side. “What if she falls? Breaks
her foot again, or the other leg? She could be crippled for life.”

“She was already crippled
for life, trapped in that chair, treated like an invalid,” Anne said
passionately. “I wanted her to have a chance to move around, try her wings.”
She searched his face for some glimmer of understanding, but saw no sign of it
behind the grim mask and nearly her will faltered.

“I was wrong to keep it from
you. You have every right to be angry. Blame me, rail at me, I don’t care, but
don’t deny Sarah the right to take a chance.” Anne’s voice rose, anger at this
intractable man she loved sweeping over her. “You might prefer to live behind
the wall you’ve built to protect yourself, but Sarah doesn’t belong there!”

“She belongs where it’s
safe!”

“Safe,” Anne echoed, her
voice shaking. “Is that what you want from life, Nicholas? To spend the rest of
your days alone, driving everyone away because you won’t risk your heart? You
say I’ve changed things. Well I hope I
have
changed things and for the
better. This was a sad house, and the people in it
deserved
better.”

Westcott recoiled as if she
had struck him and Anne bit her lip, hard. She would
not
cry and she
would
not
feel guilty for stating the truth. Cold inside, her fingers
half-numb from her grip on the chair, she let her hands fall to her sides. “I
am deeply sorry to have kept this from you,” she said, her voice so steady now
she marveled at it. “I was wrong to do so and I hope someday you will forgive
me. For encouraging Sarah I will not apologize.”

She turned and ran from the
room, not halting until she stumbled into her bedchamber. Shaking, Anne locked
both doors and collapsed into a chair. The threatened tears gone now, she
folded her arms tightly across her middle and rocked back and forth. Their
marriage was a fraud. Nicholas did not love her, would
never
love her.
Whether she wanted to live with that knowledge, whether she
could,
she
didn’t know.

Chapter Thirty-one

The port splattered the
carpet, seeping into the fibers, the shards of glass winking like jewels in the
blood-red pools of wine. Westcott stared at his hands, scarcely believing he
had thrown the heavy cut-glass decanter against the wall.
Bloody hell
.
What was wrong with him? He was
always
in control. Not even when the
physician expressed his sympathy at losing both his wife and unborn child, a
child he knew could not possibly be his, had he felt such all-encompassing fury
engulf him.

He forced stiff limbs into
mobility, went to the window, and thrust open the drapes. He had to go to
Sarah, but not yet. Not until he felt able to contain the fear striking arrows
into his heart. Seeing her on that horse….
What? You know she was not in
danger. Not then, at that moment. But you don’t want her taking risks, do you?
You want her safe in her bower like some fairy tale princess.
“Devil take
it.” Of course he wanted her safe. He was her father; he knew what was best for
her. It was Anne’s doing, all this reckless stumbling about on crutches, trying
to ride.
Giving Sarah independence.

Westcott cut off the thought
with a muffled curse. He had no time for this, no stomach for dwelling on
Anne’s perfidy, Sarah’s expanding world. Too much else demanded his attention.
Fenton’s rumour had some basis to it. Two men were known to have camped out at
the Grayson house, long since deserted after the family line died out.

Westcott crunched over the
broken glass as he made his way to the door and stepped into the passageway,
shouting for Martin.

“Sir?” Puffing, the butler
hurried up, a worried expression on his face, and Westcott imagined the entire
household knew of his argument with Anne. No doubt they all believed him at fault,
he thought bitterly.

“Send for Bill Fenton and
have someone clean up the mess in my study. I’ll see Fenton in the library.” He
turned away, then halted and looked back over his shoulder. “Let Miss Sarah
know I have been delayed and will see her in an hour.”

“Certainly, my lord.”

“And send up some ale and
cold meats.”

Too unsettled to sit,
Westcott prowled around the library. He was almost certain one of the two men
was Anne’s Major. From the description, the other was likely Meraux. What did
Meraux think to achieve? Even if he did succeed in finding Danielle there was
not a clergyman in England who would marry them.
He may not care about
marriage at this point.
An unwelcome supposition and the light tap on the
door was a relief.

“Come in.”

Bill Fenton entered, hat in
hand, his face set in an unreadable expression. “You wanted to see me, my
lord?”

“Yes. St. Clair and I rode
over to the Grayson place to check out the rumour you heard. According to the
caretaker, who is half-blind and deaf, two men showed up weeks ago, claiming
friendship with Grayson and an interest in purchasing the place. The old man
lives in two rooms in one wing. He never goes into the main house and since the
men tended to their own needs and horses, he did not care what they did. Apparently
they came and went—sometimes for several days. Judging from the fresh horse
droppings, they’ve been there recently. I know what Meraux looks like, Fenton,
but I need a description of the Major.”

“A big fellow, taller than
you, and solid. Blond hair, blue eyes and ruddy complexion.”

Westcott nodded. “That fits
with the caretaker’s description. The other man has to be Meraux. How or why
those two got together?” He frowned and dismissed it. “It hardly matters right
now.”

“Meraux knew where we lived
and the Major could have found out easily enough. They probably met up at the
villa,” Fenton suggested. “Why? Nothing good, I’ll warrant.” His lips tightened
into a grim line. “What’s to be done, sir? You’ll know the soldier wants you
dead, but more than anything he wants to get his hands on Lady Westcott.”

“It is up to us to see that
he does not,” Westcott said tersely. “Stick close to your mistress, Fenton.
Tell her no riding out or driving into the village.” If Fenton felt it unusual
to have a servant give orders to his mistress, he gave no sign of it. Anne
would be more apt to listen to her old friend in any case. “I’m going to
Winchester in the morning to talk to the authorities. Find out what resources I
can call upon.”

“You can count on me, my
lord.”

“I know it. You and Mrs.
Fenton have been caring for Lady Westcott for a long time.” Westcott clasped
the older man’s shoulder for a moment. “I trust you will be doing so for many
years to come.”

“No question as to that,
sir,” Fenton said, and walked from the room.

Whether it would be at
Westhorp or some unknown location was a question answered the second it
occurred to him. However Anne felt about him, she would never leave the
children.

A footman entered then with
a large tray. Westcott cleared one end of a table strewn with books and stood
back while the man set out a pitcher of ale, a plate of cold meats and cheese,
along with a basket of freshly baked bread.

Reminded of his hunger by
the tantalizing aroma of the bread, Westcott popped a piece of it in his mouth
and with mumbled thanks, waved the man away. He poured a mug of ale, sat, and
began to eat. He needed to have his wits about him, and a goodly store of
patience at hand before seeing Sarah. Some food in his stomach would help.

~* * *~

Sarah was alone in her
bedchamber, sitting on the window seat, intent on a book. The crutches were
propped against the wall beside her. So, a challenge, it seemed. An unconscious
one perhaps, but it meant he was not going to be able to put off this
discussion until tomorrow, as he had preferred to do.

“Hello, muffin.”

Saving her place with a
bookmark, she looked up. “Papa.”

“Where is everyone? Usually
someone is around to keep you company.” He walked over and sat beside her.

“Miss Caxton has gone to see
about our dinner. Danielle and Guy went to look at some kittens Guy found in
the stable, and Nurse is having a rest. I wanted to see you alone,” she said,
her expression touchingly grave.

“I see. This will be about
the riding.” He tipped his chin to indicate the crutches. “And those, I
suppose.”

Her eyes widened and she
looked puzzled. “Yes, of course. We need to talk about this, Papa. I know you
are upset and angry, and I don’t know how to fix it. I want to be out of the
chair sometimes and try to do things, but I don’t want to go against you.”