by Kerryn Reid
One more step. If they both reached out an arm, their fingers might touch. “But since London you’ve become so much more. Your strength, your courage… You are the man I should have dreamed of.”
He looked down again, shifted the portfolio as though unsure what to do with it. She rushed two more steps toward him, her voice trembling in panic.
“You won’t destroy them, Lewis? Promise me you won’t destroy them!” She could see him sitting in his lonely room, feeding them to the flames one by one. His expression too, hard and bleak.
“Oh, say something!” She yanked the case from his hands and threw it onto the bed. “Yell at me, curse me, hate me, only say something! I’m sorry I did it… No, I’m not, because I love you so much more. More than I ever thought possible.”
His lips quirked up the least little bit, his eyes softened. He began to speak, cleared his throat, and started again. “I like the sound of that.”
She dashed to the table by her bed and pulled open the drawer, hurried to him with his self-portrait. “I’ve carried this with me all these months, ever since you drew it. It was such a comfort to know there was one good man out there, even if I could never have him.” The parchment was worn at the edges, the lines smudged with hard use.
“Oh, Lewis.” His arms closed round her, squeezing her tight, the paper crackling between them. She tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled his head down. His bristly cheek pressed to hers, tears threatening in reaction to her dread.
“I’ll draw you a new one, sweetheart. A better one.” His voice was husky.
The day before the wedding, Putnam folded all their clothes and packed them away. Anna watched as the single trunk they had brought north became two trunks, and then three. Late in the afternoon they were carted off to the Aubreys’ house.
Left with only the gown she was wearing and the one for tomorrow, everything seemed very final. As often as she stopped herself from biting her cheek, she found she was doing it again.
Holly, the nursery maid, came for the day; she would begin her full-time duties tomorrow. She was barely eighteen, but the youngest of a large family with a generous supply of children’s songs and rhymes and ample experience caring for her nieces and nephews.
Amid all the bustle, Doris’s nursing times were precious, islands of calm in a river rushing to a foreign land, a place Anna had given up ever seeing. In the evening, after a warm bath perfumed with thyme and lavender, she sat on the window seat with her blanket, hugging her knees and gazing out into the night.
What would she be doing tomorrow at this time? Her room at the Aubreys’—the room she and Lewis would share—had no window seat, but there was a pretty view over the meadows toward the river. It was all snow now, but come spring it should be green and lovely, if they were still there. If not, spring would be even lovelier somewhere else.
Though fresh snow dusted the ground and rooftops, her wedding day dawned bright and clear. She watched it happen from the other window, too nervous to sleep. A little after six, Nancy came to lay the fire. Before she’d even finished Putnam came in with Doris. They must make time to feed her again after the ceremony, before leaving the house for the last time. At seven Kate and Barbara brought her breakfast. She couldn’t eat.
At eight Cassie and Lady Wedbury walked in, bringing with them a gorgeous bouquet of little pink roses tied up with ribbons and lace. “There’s a card,” Cassie said. “What does it say?”
“Love, L.” Anna flipped it over, but that was all. It was enough.
Dressing seemed to take a long time. While Anna shivered and fidgeted, the others worked around her, adjusting each seam and gather until it fell perfectly. Holly brought the baby in to watch, and Kate and Barbara sat on the window seat, strictly adjured to silence by their mother.
Putnam did her hair in a style she’d never worn before, sleek and golden, with a jeweled comb that Lady Wedbury presented to her.
“Oh, my lady,” Anna breathed. It was a beautiful piece.
“It’s nothing,” Lady Wedbury said. “Your hands are like ice, child!” She rubbed them between her own while Putnam applied a bit of rouge, a dusting of powder, a little color on her lips. Nothing Putnam could do about the apprehension in her eyes.
The pearls Lewis had given her yesterday, her gloves, the roses… She was ready. Why should she be afraid?
Mr. Lindale waited downstairs to escort her to the church. The church yard had been swept but he carried her anyway. High-handed, like Lewis.
He set her down in the porch and the ladies twitched the gown into place. Anna felt a bit like a queen with her court.
Sir John stood inside the door and took her arm from Mr. Lindale. A hush fell—not silence, but whispers in place of the chatter that preceded them.
She smelled flowers. Not only her bouquet but baskets of Christmas roses, herbs, and orange blossoms.
She dared not look at the faces staring at her as Sir John led her down the aisle. There seemed to be a dreadful number of them. Why would all these people come to see her, a fallen woman, her child born out of wedlock? Please God, they never learned the rest. For Doris’s sake.
There was the vicar, and Jack Wedbury, and Lewis in front of them both. She fixed her gaze on his face.
She had no idea what she said, but it must have been right, because finally Mr. Redfern pronounced them man and wife, and Lewis kissed her, right in front of everyone, his lips curving into a grin as he held it too long. A couple of men chuckled.
They walked out hand in hand and stood in the porch while people filed past them with handshakes and congratulations. Anna blushed and nodded. Did she say anything at all? She didn’t know.
Pushed ahead by Lewis’s father without a chance to speak, Mrs. Aubrey looked back at Anna, desperate to convey some message. Anna could not leave, but Mr. Lindale stood beside her. “Please, would you see what Mrs. Aubrey wants?”
He trod down the steps, spent a brief moment with her, and returned to Anna’s side, wearing quite a different expression. Before he said a word, she knew.
“Gideon’s at the house.”
Chapter 47
Lewis and Cassie stayed with Anna at the vicarage while she nursed Doris. For the first time, he’d been allowed to remain in the room. Being a husband definitely had its privileges.
The pearls he’d given Anna as a wedding present formed an arc above her half-bared breast—a beautiful sight, if ever he’d seen one. Someday he would try his skill at putting it on paper. Not while Gideon lay in ambush, however, waiting to pollute their wedding day.
“That scab,” Cassie said, prowling the room that had been Anna’s but now sat empty of all her possessions. “I should have known he couldn’t keep his filthy hands off your happiness.”
She heaved a sigh and plopped down onto the window seat, fidgeting and kicking one foot until Anna had finished. Putnam returned from the next room and together they got Anna back into her gown.
Lewis sent Putnam and Holly off with the baby in one carriage. “The coachman will accompany you upstairs. Lock yourselves in when you get there. That’s an order.”
If only he had an army at his command. A small one would do.
He helped Anna and Cassie into the new carriage. They sat silent and tense, his fingers twined tight with Anna’s.
“How do you think this will go?” Anna asked him. He hated that her wedding day had come to this, hated his brother more than ever for doing this to her.
He answered as lightly as he could. “I honestly have no idea. You know what he’s always been like in company, so suave and charming. If he keeps to the usual word play and innuendo, everything will be fine. What happened at dinner the other evening… I’ve never seen him like that before. But we’ll get through it, Anna. It won’t be pleasant, but we’ll get through it.”
“If you ask me,” Cassie said, “he’s going mad. He’s losing society’s good opinion, and can’t bear the thought of tumbling from darling to outcast.”
&nbs
p; “But no one did ask you,” Lewis pointed out, more sharply than he intended. Even if she were right, he did not want Anna worrying about that.
Naturally, they were the last to arrive. Before heading toward the voices in the drawing room, Lewis aimed a fake grin at the two women. “Smile now. It’s a joyful day.” They did as well as he could expect. He took Anna’s arm and drew her to his side. “Stay close, sweetheart. It’s our wedding day, no one will think it odd. And don’t go anywhere by yourself.” Outrageous that he must impose such a rule in his own home.
Lindale stood just inside the room with a drink in his hand. “There you are. Thought maybe you’d decided to go on an unannounced wedding trip. Not that I’d blame you.”
Lewis made a quick survey of the room. “Where is he?”
“In the dining room, drinking like a fish. The captain’s there too,” he added, with a nod to Cassie.
Yes, Lewis heard the bellow of men’s laughter that often accompanied Gideon’s jokes. Who’s the butt of this one? He didn’t want to know.
“Might as well enjoy ourselves,” he said, moving on into the room with Anna. “And when he comes here, we can go there.”
“Maybe he won’t. I’ll happily go hungry to avoid him.”
By Wrackwater Bridge standards it was a crush. Even Lewis did not recognize everyone; he could imagine Anna’s feelings. His own nature made the back-slapping and small talk a battle of endurance, but it was comparatively mild torture as long as Gideon stayed away. People might whisper, but they had come to lend their support, at least in part. No one but Gideon meant them any harm, except possibly…
He spotted his father in the corner, talking with a couple of his cronies from the men’s club. Not gentry but successful businessmen, as Father had been before inheriting Aubrey Hall.
He guided Anna toward them, one hand on her back. Smiles and introductions followed, congratulations and Anna’s rote phrase for strangers, “We’re so glad you came to help us celebrate.” She delivered it with simple grace and a smile that would fool almost anyone.
If Father had shared his version of events with these fellows, no doubt they thought Lewis a fool and Anna far worse. But they hid it well, if so, and soon wandered off for fresh drinks. As soon as they’d gone, the goodwill on Father’s face vanished.
“Smile, Papa,” Lewis said. “It’s a lovely party, and your beloved son and daughter are here to enjoy it with you.” The cur’s mouth formed into an ugly grin, more like a mastiff planning its attack.
“Don’t give me your impudence, boy. I’ve had a bellyful from your mother.”
Lewis laughed, surprised to find there was pleasure in it. “Good for her.” Was there truth in Anna’s imaginings? If so, he must rewrite his whole relationship with his mother, both past and future.
“Think it’s funny, do you?” Father grumbled as they walked off. Yet when Lewis glanced back, he appeared jovial enough in conversation with Philip Dusseau.
Anna slanted a look up at him, a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes. “I’m so glad your mother is speaking up for herself. It must be terribly hard.”
“Can’t imagine what she said to make him so amenable. Have you seen her?”
There she was, talking with Miss Maxwell and old Doctor Pigeon. She should have been delirious with excitement, hosting such a crowd, but her smile was as tenuous as Lewis’s own. The surreptitious glances she slid toward the hall every few seconds further gave her away.
She took Anna’s hand as they approached. “Dr. Pigeon, I want you to meet my new daughter. Mrs. Aubrey, of course… There are two of us now, which will be quite bewildering.” She tittered in her annoying way. Lewis had always thought it a conscious affectation, but perhaps it was a nervous reflex she couldn’t control.
As Anna began her welcoming speech, Miss Maxwell glanced over Anna’s shoulder toward the door. Her eyes first widened, then narrowed, her countenance hardening into marble. At the same time, Lewis heard a tiny moan from his mother.
“Well, well,” said Gideon, executing a perfect bow. “Here are the turtledoves at last. And my dearest mother. Good to see you again, doctor, it’s been a long time. For you, Miss Maxwell, not long enough.”
The doctor laughed as though he’d said something funny and gave his hand a hearty shake. Anna had paled at the first sound of his voice. Lewis could see the effort it cost her to paste her smile back in place.
“My apologies for missing the ceremony, Little Lew. And Miss… No, it’s Mrs. Aubrey now; how awkward! I was temporarily—er—indisposed.”
“It’s quite all right,” Lewis replied. Too bad the condition wasn’t permanent.
“What a shame,” Gideon went on, raising his voice, “that you took so long to seal your love. The child was born…what, a month ago?” He shrugged. “Ah well. Better now than never. By the time she’s of marriageable age, perhaps the good folk of Wrackwater Bridge will be ready to overlook the shame of her—”
Lewis, his smile fled, laid a hand on Gideon’s shoulder to push him from the room. But his mother spoke up, a martial light in her eye.
“On the contrary, my son. She is a fortunate child with loving parents and grandparents. And by their presence here today, I believe our guests show the generosity of their forgiveness. If there is any shame, it is certainly not the child’s.”
Lewis and Gideon both stared at the stranger in front of them. Someone said “Bravo,” someone started clapping and the applause swelled. Anna threw an arm around Mother’s neck. Mother blinked in dismay, but patted Anna’s shoulder awkwardly. It must have been a long time since she’d received a sincere, spontaneous sign of appreciation. Lewis could recall none.
She had shut Gideon up. But he looked sullen, not defeated.
Mother extricated herself from Anna’s embrace and sent some signal to one of the extra servants Lewis had hired for the day. The champagne appeared, hired crystal on hired silver trays, also at his expense. The noise level had multiplied, the guests from the dining room drawn by all the excitement.
Someone tapped a utensil against a glass. The voices quieted as everyone searched out the source. Sir John, his glass held high.
“A toast, please, on this auspicious occasion! I first met Lewis Aubrey when he was five days old. He grew up alongside my own children…”
Lewis stopped listening. Gideon leaned a shoulder against the mantel, directly beneath his portrait. He watched Sir John, but Lewis doubted he heard a word. He wore not his smirk but a mulish glower, his chin jutting forward in unyielding bullheadedness. He was thinking, and that was dangerous.
Lewis caught Lindale’s eye across the room and twitched his head in Gideon’s direction. Casually, Lindale moved along the outside of the crowd toward the fireplace, collecting Fuller on the way.
Sir John droned on. “His bride I met less than a year ago. Yet I’ve come to know her as a sweet, caring young woman of grace and honor. She has won a place in the heart of my family. We are pleased to welcome her to Wrackwater Bridge and to celebrate her union with one of our own.” He raised his glass again. “Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!” The guests joined in with enthusiasm.
Lewis raised his glass to Anna, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and she returned the salute.
By God, Lewis hoped he was wrong. But no. Gideon had pushed himself away from the mantel, taking up a position a few steps from the fire. He planned to speak.
But Sir John was not finished. “One more toast, if you please! This one is for a young lady I met just a week ago on the occasion of her christening. Yes, the timing of events is unusual—I’m sure you have all heard and wondered about the circumstances. Those are private matters. I am humbled to be asked, and proud to accept my responsibilities as godfather. To Miss Doris Rose Aubrey! Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!”
The noise was deafening. Anna was too busy wiping the tears from her cheeks to drink.
Lewis muttered into her ear. “Stay with Mother.”
He set his glass on a table and set of
f toward Gideon, nodding and smiling as he went. Jack followed in his wake.
Gideon stood still, bored and contemptuous, waiting for the cheers to die down.
When they had done so, he made his own bid for attention—the piercing, two-fingered whistle he’d always used to call his gang to action. Lewis had not heard it in years. It still made him jump.
Stunned into silence, the crowd turned toward the portrait of Gideon and the man beneath it. It seemed to Lewis that every pair of eyes traveled between the two. No denying his brother had flair.
Gideon lifted his glass in the air as Sir John had done. It was not champagne but something far stronger. He poured the contents down his throat and then tossed the glass over his shoulder to crash against the mantelpiece. The people nearest to him flinched away amid the gasps and whispers, pushing the whole crowd back a step. When he spoke, his voice was slurred, though one might not notice unless one knew him well.
“I have been shown up today by my mother and brother. I don’t mind. She, after all, is just an old woman, and he’s a…well, another old woman.” That earned some snickers and a couple of guffaws.
“I see there’s a battalion gathered to escort me to the gallows. But first, I must applaud Sir John’s magniloquence. His mastery of the English language deserves our respect if nothing else does. Let’s hear it for Sir John!”
He raised his hands above his head and clapped until half his audience followed suit.
“Perhaps our appreciation for Sir John is not so great. It is, after all, his lady who wears the breeches. What a sight, eh, gents?”
No one laughed, except Gideon himself, whose hilarity was immoderate.