by Liz Tyner
After the way they’d talked last night, she would have expected him to be friendlier. But instead he seemed even more distant. Perhaps he regretted telling her the things he had.
She could hang on to the horse, but it was Barrett she kept wanting to reach out to. He’d been a part of her adventure and he was returning her to the sameness, and she’d miss him. She wanted to soothe him. She’d always been able to talk her sisters into a better mood.
‘Thank you for securing the horse for me.’
He gave a half-nod and didn’t look her way. She was on the other side of his feelings. He’d closed away that friendliness they’d shared in the night.
He moved around her, preparing to leave, but she could tell he’d already left her in his mind.
‘You didn’t have to come after me. But I am glad you wished to help my parents.’
He looked at her. ‘I felt sorry for them.’
The edges of his words knifed into her. She turned her head away from him. He felt sorry for her parents. Such compassion. ‘I understand.’
Chapter Eleven
The closer they came to London, the more she sensed his distance from her. The lines at his eyes deepened and his lips firmed.
Her father was the same way when he was angry, using silence to punish. But he wasn’t her father and she didn’t feel like tiptoeing around his feelings. And she’d not hurt her parents on purpose. She fell back into her old habits, hating when someone seemed angry. Not wanting to displease them, or feeling uncomfortable in their silence.
‘I left a note for my parents.’ She examined the road, holding on more snugly to the reins as the horse neared a rut.
He looked at her, eyes tight, but his face loosening just a bit. ‘They thought you might have been at my house, or that I might know where you were.’
‘I told you that I purposefully waited until you were away. They only thought of you because you seemed friendly to me when you taught me to defend yourself.’
‘Your parents have no real notion of life. Or people.’
‘They imagined a life of grandchildren with fancy names and a family growing larger and larger with smiles growing larger and larger, and all of us under one roof and sunbeams in every corner and it’s not turning out like that.’
‘No life is perfect. But yours is better than most.’
‘I am sorry for the struggles you’ve had.’
‘Don’t be. I’m not.’
She wanted to jab back at him. To ask if that included his mother’s death. But she wasn’t soulless. And even if he wasn’t sorry for the struggles in his life, she knew he was sorry for his mother’s death. He couldn’t help but be. And perhaps that was why she felt the distance from him. Perhaps he was angry she’d worried her parents.
‘I have been the sunbeam for the family my whole life. My sisters knew I would soothe my parents when they left. It’s the way it’s always been.’
‘Your sisters didn’t give a thought about you or your parents.’
‘How can you say such a thing? My sisters followed their hearts.’
‘By now the broken bits of those hearts are likely scattered along like ashes behind them. Desire fells innocents faster than any other disease.’ He stared through her. ‘And it can fell old rogues, too.’
‘Do you fit into that category?’
The horse kept plodding along and Barrett finally answered, ‘I fit into a group all my own.’
She examined him. ‘And your age?’
He waited, knowing that when he looked at others his age moving about in the ton, he saw the gulf that existed between them. He had more the feelings inside him of the lower class, with his stocky frame and the battered look of his hands. But when he looked in the mirror, an heir’s face stared back at him.
‘I’m twenty-seven.’
Her lips parted and she stared, trying to determine if he lied. ‘Twenty-seven?’ She touched the side of her eyes. ‘Twenty-seven?’
His lips turned up and the lines at his eyes increased, but he didn’t truly smile. ‘I started living my life at a much younger age than you did.’
He was not as old as she’d thought. Much closer to her own age and yet he reminded her of the music boxes she’d seen at an exhibition. Some were rather rough and had intricate parts that made no sense to her, and yet when the music started, she wanted to listen forever and examine the working parts and figure out how the music had been made. They seemed impossible and so did Barrett.
‘I don’t think I’ve started living yet and I don’t wish to live my whole life watching my parents. The same house. The same roof...’
‘You’re safe there. The refuse on the streets can stick to your clothing for a very long time.’
‘Your whole life you have had freedom.’ She rode, pulled along by wanting to see deeper into his gaze. Except for the darkness under his eyes he appeared no different than the first time she saw him.
‘With it comes a cost.’
She raised her brows.
‘There can be a certain loss of innocence.’ He tilted his head back so that his lids dropped as he looked at her. ‘Can I tell you what the flavour of chocolate is like? The burn of brandy? Can I tell you how the loss of innocence feels? I’ve heard that you must lose it enough so that you don’t retain any to make you bitter for what could have been.’
‘Have you innocence left?’
‘I never had any to begin with.’
‘So why do you care about mine if it has served you well not to have it?’
‘Rose blooms are rather senseless to me. I feel nothing for them. But why should I want to see them crushed under someone’s soles?’
She didn’t answer. He talked as if she were going to run off the edge of a cliff just to see the feeling of plunging to the earth. Everything had risk. Even doing nothing had risk and sometimes that was the biggest risk of all.
And he was taking her back to her home where she would have two choices—the best one being to remain in the attic. The three rooms would almost be like having a little cottage of her own. ‘I suppose life is not all soirées.’
But she would have to attend soirées now if she wanted to leave her house. She doubted her parents would trust her alone. Her best hope might be the attic, rather than with her mother sleeping between her and the door.
A stab of irritation flashed inside her. Her sisters could have stayed closer. They really could have.
Even as she thought that, she knew why they hadn’t. It never felt good to be on display with an imagined sign over your head listing your wifely qualities and a parent waiting for the highest bidder.
The horses reached the outskirts of London and her bottom ached at the thought of riding through the streets. She’d wanted to be out, but not on an old nag and wearing a drooping bonnet that would have looked better on the horse.
‘I cannot be riding into town without a chaperon. Particularly in the middle of the day.’
‘Yes, you can,’ he said. ‘Neither of us looks reputable enough to be noticed, nor quite disreputable enough to be observed, and the bonnet hides your face. When we get to your house, I’ll slip you inside.’
‘The rear door shouldn’t be attended well. I can enter there.’
He rode with her to her house and slid down from his horse. He moved around, reaching up to help her from her mount. His hands touched her sides, warming her. He lifted her up into the air and then down from the horse.
Her feet went out from under her—she’d been so lost in his hands—and he caught her. She looked up and her world changed. She reached out, grabbing him to stay aloft and then stumbling when she gazed into his eyes.
He stared at her, this giant of a man, and then he gently removed his hands, leaving her the feeling of being abandoned.
She dusted herself off, unable to stop her hands from bru
shing away the places he’d touched.
The wall that he lived behind was well in place and the fortress wasn’t welcoming.
‘Are you able to walk?’ he asked.
‘I think so.’ She took a step and he steadied her elbow. ‘I’ve not ridden much before.’ It was easier to stand near him for a few moments, his hand on her elbow.
‘I suspect you’ve not done much of anything before.’ He took the reins and tied them on a gatepost at the side of the gardens, then led her until they stood at the rear door.
He put out a hand to still her and guided her so she looked into his gaze.
‘I considered marriage once.’ His voice rolled like a breeze over a meadow.
Everything faded from her view, except the look on his face. ‘I cannot imagine you in love.’
He chuckled. ‘I wouldn’t have called it love. I would have called it Madeline Trotter. I was quite in her thrall. Perfection. A courtesan’s body and a courtesan’s heart, with quite the lilt to her voice. I was busy at the time and was up to my eyeballs, trying to purchase Fortnum & Mason, which sadly did not happen. Plus, I was investing heavily, trying to increase the output at the ironworks.’
‘You smile even now as you think of her.’ She turned. The door was at her back and he was at her side.
‘I laugh at myself. It felt as if I was having to open another sort of ledger book deep inside me and that was acceptable. Theatre visit—check. You look lovely today, Madeline—check. I moved through the motions. So I put off the proposal. I was busy. She would wait. She did. The man of affairs wanted to earn a bit of my favour and alerted me to an obscure change in funds from my father’s accounts. Very craftily done. Madeline Trotter had been put in my path by my father. I must say he did quite well.’
‘You had a matchmaking papa. I’m not surprised. Most peers want heirs.’
‘Most certainly, but when I understood my father was involved, I no longer saw her as a suitable wife. My father’s foresight and finesse impressed me on that occasion. As a rule, I had only seen force from him. Now I saw how he’d managed among society. He’d decided he needed an ally in my camp and saw her as an opportunity. I believe he felt certain he could severely discredit her in society should she not go along with any of his schemes.’
He tilted back his head. ‘I learned a bit more of the game with little effort. I decided not to ask her to marry me. Her loyalty had already been purchased and I couldn’t know if I ever truly had it, nor that it was something I count on.’
‘You couldn’t marry someone you couldn’t trust.’ She rested her hand on the door frame.
‘I don’t think you understand how the game is truly played, Annie. I didn’t tell her. I didn’t change anything except my plans for marriage. It took her quite some months to suspect we were not going to wed. In the meantime, I had an adoring woman at my side who seemed to float on my every word. I had but to lift a finger and she’d jump to my bidding—but she caught on.’
‘If she was so devious as you say, I’m surprised she didn’t try to take revenge.’
‘She couldn’t. I brought up the subject of my father and she couldn’t be sure what I knew about her. She played the game as a professional would. She folded her cards, wished me the best and moved on.’
He took her chin and held it so that she could not avoid his eyes. ‘I tell you this so you’ll have no illusions about me. And you should take very close care that you don’t have them about other people. You will be far better off to be like the Madeline Trotters of the world.’
‘But if she’d been true, and not guided by funds, perhaps you would have married her.’
He shook his head. ‘Perhaps. But would that have been a good thing for either of us? And how do you think she would have felt when I visited your father’s house and became entranced by his daughter?’ He took Annie’s hand and kissed her wrist, before reaching around her to open the door for her, completely surrounding her by his form. She had no choice but to go inside.
He could answer the question he’d asked Annie and he knew her conclusions were wrong. Madeline wouldn’t have particularly cared if his attention had moved elsewhere as long as her status hadn’t been affected.
He was the one who had the problem with his fascination with Annie. He’d wanted to warn her away and knew the warning had been ignored.
The passion that could even mislead him had reared its head and stood at the edge of his sight, laughing at him.
Barrett smiled, feeling no humour. They were all prisoners, of a sort. He could not leave his father for long, uncertain of what the man might try and knowing that he could control and contain his father better than any other. A duty ingrained in Barrett.
He paused. Perhaps, in some wasted memory of his father’s mind, he knew exactly what he did and finally controlled the son who’d always railed at being dominated. Perhaps his father had finally found a way to keep Barrett under his thumb.
No matter. It worked.
He had to keep his business and his father at the forefront of his mind. He couldn’t be distracted by Annie.
Barrett could feel the risk for himself, though. The pull of her goodness. The very things he’d warned her about were not as extinguished inside him as he’d believed. He could not be misled by the desire he warned her about. Love. A word created to make sense of foolishness and passion, and cause people to destroy everything of value in their life, just as the drink could. Even themselves.
Their footfalls sounded throughout the quiet halls. Annie looked in her mother’s sitting room. ‘They’re not here.’
‘I suppose they are searching about for you.’ He examined her. ‘When they come home, if they see you so bedraggled, it will take years from their lives.’
She held out the hem of her skirt. ‘I’ve never worn such a muddied garment.’
‘I’ll wait for you in your father’s sitting room.’
‘You’re not going to leave?’ Relief showed on her face.
He couldn’t. Battle lines might be drawn. True emotions could surface. He could protect Annie again.
Annie studied him. He could see in her face she’d not really listened to a word he’d said, nor even understood that he was telling her that she was better off not being embroiled in his life. He wasn’t sure he should be enmeshed in his own life, and yet he could never step out. It wasn’t just that his father held him confined. He’d lost his innocence too early and when he saw Annie, he could not reach through the invisible barrier that kept them in different worlds. Nothing inside him could traverse the distance.
Chapter Twelve
Barrett kept an ever-so-proper distance between himself and Annie as they waited for her parents. She should not be alone for this.
A maid had stopped in the doorway, eyes taking in the scene. The servant had explained that Annie’s parents had left suddenly, but hadn’t given a reason.
A clatter on the stairway alerted him that her mother had arrived. He tensed. Mrs Carson rushed into the room, a whirlwind of jewellery and fabrics. Her face wreathed in lines. ‘My baby is back.’
She grasped Annie’s shoulders in her gloved hands. ‘Why did you do this to us, Annie? Why?’
Then her mother saw Barrett. ‘You brought her back, didn’t you?’
He nodded.
She turned again to Annie. ‘If not for Mr Barrett...we might never have seen you again. We went to your cousins’ houses, hoping to discover who’d helped you leave, but no one had heard from you. Where were you?’ She pulled Annie closer, clasping her daughter in a tight hug.
Annie patted her mother’s back. ‘I just wanted to see Honour. I don’t want her alone when the baby is born.’
Her mother’s voice wavered. ‘You could not. Childbirth is no place for a gentlewoman. Why, I would not have attended any of my children’s births if I hadn’t had to. It was ghastly.’
‘Oh, Annie. What are we to do with you?’ her father asked, stepping into the room.
Her father turned his head away. Carson had had tears in his eyes.
‘You must promise us, Annie. You must promise you will not do something so foolish again.’ Her mother stepped back, removed her gloves and used one to dot her brow, seemingly unaware she didn’t have a handkerchief in her hands.
Barrett examined the tableau, seeing it, but not understanding the lack of emotion. Where was the shouting, the ruckus, the threats?
‘You will not leave the house again without your mother or me with you. You must understand.’ The gruff voice of her father, breaking a bit.
‘Father. I do understand how much you care for me.’ Annie’s calming tone. ‘I took great care to leave with a kindly woman who could chaperon me.’
‘When we thought...’ Her mother’s voice, with a gasp at the end.
Silence.
‘We cannot bear to lose you.’ Her mother again. ‘I cannot believe you tried to run away.’
Barrett turned, just as the mother fell into a chair, knuckles at her mouth. She still held her gloves in the other hand.
He’d thought the Carson family cared for Annie and yet they were treating her almost as if she’d done nothing more than been late for dinner. No wonder she had such innocence. The family itself showed no deep emotions. Perhaps they didn’t feel them.
Without speaking, he moved to the door. Outside, he shook his head, standing for a moment, waiting for the crash of glass.
Instead he heard sniffling from either her father or her mother. He wasn’t sure which. Perhaps both. He stopped. Her parents were more innocent than Annie.
‘Annie,’ her mother spoke. ‘You have no idea how much we love you. I thought I would truly die when I discovered you gone.’
‘Without any of my daughters here...’ her father’s voice again ‘...there wouldn’t be a reason to keep on living. Not for either your mother or me.’