by Kruger, Mary
“It’s of no matter. You’ll always have a home with us.”
“My place is with Thomas, now.”
“Good God.” He pulled back. “Do you really mean you’d follow the drum?”
“Of course.”
“Beth, that’s no kind of life for a woman.”
“It’s the life I want.” Beth’s voice was firm. “I love him, Giles. And, do you know, I think I’m stronger than anyone ever thought. Even myself.”
“Good.” Giles pulled away. What had happened to the women of his family? They had all changed this summer. “If it’s what you want to do, I can’t stop you. You’ll have a hard time convincing your lieutenant, though.”
“Oh, I’ll manage Thomas.” Beth’s smile was brilliant, and quite unlike her usual one. “He won’t want to be separated from me, either. Just as Anne doesn’t want to leave you for Jamaica.”
Giles looked sharply at her at that. “That’s another matter.”
“Oh, I’m so happy, Giles!” She threw her arms around his neck. “I want you to be happy, too. You will speak to Anne, won’t you?”
Under Beth’s bright, expectant gaze, he couldn’t bring himself to say that he doubted it would do any good. “If I can.” He hugged her. “I wish you happy, Beth. I love you, you know.”
“Yes, I know.” Beth pulled back. “Now, please, find Anne and tell her the same thing.”
“Yes, ma’am!” Giles saluted, grinning. Damned if he wouldn’t, now that Beth’s future was settled. Damned if he wouldn’t.
The night was hot and close. A thunderstorm was brewing, Obadiah had said earlier. The cool linen sheets of Anne’s bed were twisted and hot around her, and beads of perspiration trickled down between her breasts. Dear heavens, why could she not sleep? Certainly she had been busy enough this past week, attending balls and such and paying assiduous attention to Jamie. Anything to avoid Giles, anything not to think about the things he had made her remember. She should be tired. She certainly was during the day. Sometimes at routs she had to press her lips together to stifle her yawns. She needed sleep, but the more she courted it, the farther away it seemed.
Damn, it was hot! She sat abruptly up in bed, pushing her heavy hair away from her face. She could not face another moment of this, or she would go mad. She knew one method of finding sleep. Swinging her legs out of bed, she rose, smoothing her crumpled nightrail. It was late, and the entire household slept. No one was about to see her. She would not bother to wear her wrapper. It was far too hot.
The house was silent, as still as the night, making her tiptoe down the stairs and catch her breath each time a board creaked beneath her bare feet. No one stirred, and so she made it downstairs in safety. Unerringly she turned toward the drawing room; unerringly she found the flint and struck it, lighting a candle by its brief spark. There, she could see her destination. The table of decanters, behind the camel-back sofa.
The sherry glowed a rich amber in the dim light as she poured it into her glass. A fine wine, she thought, curling up on the sofa and holding the glass to the light. She should know. It had helped her find oblivion more than once this past week, and would do so again. Thank heavens for it. What would she do without it?
Yes, and what had she done without it? a niggling voice inside her asked. Usually she ignored the voice, but tonight she must have been more tired, more on edge. Tonight, the voice was loud. About to take a sip, Anne stopped and pulled back, looking at the glass. Dear lord, what was she doing? She should know better than to travel this road. Down such a path had gone Freddie.
Slowly and deliberately, she poured the sherry back into the decanter. She might not sleep tonight, but somehow that didn’t matter. There was a peace inside her that she had not felt in a long time. Freddie had not been evil, just weak. He had allowed the liquor to take over his life, and everyone had paid the price. It wasn’t her fault he’d behaved as he had. She had done her best to be a good wife to him, even after she’d realized she didn’t love him. Liquor, and Freddie’s own demons, had destroyed him.
She had just set the stopper on the decanter when there was a footfall at the doorway. Hastily she spun around, her arms crossing protectively across her breasts. She could not see past the glow of the candle to the figure who held it, but then the person moved. Giles. Only Giles. She felt weak with relief, and something else, something she didn’t want to acknowledge. “Giles?”
“I heard a noise and thought perhaps it was our ghost,” he said, placing his candle on a table.
“No, ‘tis only me. Sorry. We haven’t heard from him lately, have we?”
“No. Is aught wrong, Anne?”
“Heavens, no. I simply cannot sleep, ‘tis so hot.”
“Surely you’re used to worse than this in Jamaica.”
“Yes, but we have breezes to keep things comfortable. Obadiah said we’ll be having a storm.”
“Hm. I wonder what kind of storm he meant.”
“Beg pardon? I would think a thunderstorm.”
“I think it just as likely there’ll be a storm inside. Or haven’t you noticed that things have been tense lately?”
“Oh, yes. With Beth planning to marry—”
“I’m not talking about Beth,” he said, and Anne fell quiet. “Anne, you can’t run away from me forever.”
“Heavens, whoever said I’m doing that?”
“Annie.” He walked across to her and tilted her chin up with his fingers. “You can’t fool me, you know. You’ve been avoiding me.” His voice was quiet. “I know your marriage was unhappy. I also have a fair idea why.”
Anne looked up at him and drew a deep, shaky breath. “It’s past, Giles.”
“Is it? No, don’t turn away from me, Annie. If it is in the past, why are you so adamant about never being in a man’s power again? Your own words, I’ll remind you.”
“Heavens, I was just being dramatic.”
“Annie.”
She closed her eyes. He knew. “How much do you know?”
“Enough. Too much.” Giles’s hands curled into fists. “If I had Freddie here—”
“It’s past, Giles. Really. I survived it.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did you not tell me?”
Anne looked down at her toes, now curled over each other, and muttered something. “Excuse me?” Giles said.
“I said it is none of your business,” she said, looking up at him defiantly.
“No.” He caught her chin in his hand. “That’s not what you said.”
Anne squeezed her eyes shut. “Giles, please.”
“You’re afraid I’ll think less of you. Why?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Giles!” She jerked away from his hand and glared at him. “Think of how it looks, that my husband beat me. I must have deserved it, mustn’t I? Why else would he have done such a thing? Giles, how could you not think less of me?”
Giles didn’t answer right away. What did he think of this situation? His initial reaction had been an angry protectiveness, followed by indignation that she had chosen a man who would mistreat her, over him. And hadn’t a part of him wondered what she had done to provoke such mistreatment? But, damn, he’d been angry with women, with her, and never once had he felt the urge to raise his hand. The fault hadn’t been in Anne. It had been in Freddie. “No, Annie,” he said. “To the contrary. I think you must be very brave and strong to have come through it as you have.”
Tears pooled in Anne’s eyes, blurring her vision. He meant it. Of all the reactions her past could have received, this was the most unexpected, and it made her feel absurdly grateful to him. Grateful, and something else. Cherished. Cared-for. “Oh, Giles—”
“Annie.” He was by her side in a moment, wrapping his arms around her and drawing her close, feeling the warmth of her through the slight barrier of their clothing. She wore only a nightgown. Of that he had been acutely aware since stopping at the door and seeing her figure outlined by the cand
le’s glow. He wore only his dressing gown. Dangerous, this, but he didn’t want to let her go. He needed this closeness as much as she did. “It’s all right.”
“What you must be thinking, Giles, that I chose someone like that over you.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I always thought Freddie was too weak for you, but I didn’t think he’d behave as he did.”
“He was weak. That was one of the reasons he did it, I know that now.”
“Why didn’t you tell anyone, Anne?”
“Who could I have told? No one would have helped me in Jamaica, and nor would my parents.”
“You could have told me.”
“Could I? Remember, I thought you were marrying someone else. And, in any event.” She swallowed, hard. “I was ashamed.”
Giles had to bend low to catch her last words; the impact of them brought his head up sharply. “Ashamed! Good God, why?”
“I thought it had to be my fault.” Her fingers opened and closed on his shoulders, opened and closed. “I thought I had to be doing something wrong. First, my father—well, I know why he didn’t love me, I wasn’t a boy! Then you, marrying someone else, as I thought, and that hurt. Oh, it hurt. So, when I provoked Freddie and he reacted, I—well, I assumed it was my fault.”
“Annie.” His voice was as gentle as his fingers, brushing away her tears. “You know that’s not true.”
She nodded, quickly. “Yes. Oh, yes, I know that now, I’ve known it for a long time. Because.” She stopped, closing her eyes for a moment. “Because maybe I provoked him, but Jamie was only a baby.”
It took Giles a moment to realize what she meant. “Good God! He hit Jamie?”
“Once. Only once.” Her eyes were calm now, and resolute. The eyes of a survivor. “I don’t think Jamie remembers, he was so young, but I do. It made me realize that Freddie was the one to blame, not Jamie, and not me. And I never let him touch me again.”
“Good God,” he said again, running his hand through his hair. “Anne, you could have come home.”
“To what? To scandal? Who would have been on my side, Giles? You know as well as I that no one would think Freddie’s behavior unusual. Not when women are considered a man’s property.” Her voice was bitter. “It’s almost as bad as slavery, but at least he gave the slaves their freedom.”
“I can’t imagine any man thinking he could own you.”
“No, I thought it best to stay where I was. At least there I had some control over my life, and the servants were with me.”
“Including Obadiah?”
Anne smiled for the first time. “Especially Obadiah.”
“Good.” Giles’s voice was grim. “Freddie always was a bit of a coward.”
“Yes. Obadiah didn’t even have to use force. All it would take was a voodoo chant.” Giles burst out laughing. “Nothing harmful, of course, but Freddie didn’t know that. After a time, you know, he was glad to avoid me. He had his rum, and his other women.” She stopped, abruptly. “It’s past, thank God. It’s over. And I learned a lot from it.” She drew a deep breath. “I learned I never again wish to be in a position where I am dependent on a man.”
“I can understand that, Anne, except that not everyone is like him.”
“Oh? Then will you allow me to run the plantation? To educate Jamie as I see fit? No, don’t answer, I can see it in your eyes.” She turned away. “Poor Giles.”
“What? Why?”
“You cannot change, can you? Even if you want to.”
“That’s not fair,” he protested. “I was brought up to believe that it is a man’s duty to protect his woman.”
“I’m not just any woman, Giles, and I’m not certain I need protection.”
Lightly, he trailed his fingers down her cheek, making her jerk back. “No, not in the ordinary way.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that you are far more sensitive than you would have people think. You need someone who’d understand that.”
Anne gazed up at him. His eyes were soft and warm in the candlelight. Someone who understood her. Had anyone ever had? Only Giles, when they had been children playing together, when they had first been engaged. That understanding was still there. He knew her, and he loved her anyway. Had loved her. What they had had was as past as her life with Freddie, and there was no going back. There was no future between them.
“Giles, even if I found someone like that, I’m not sure...” Her voice trailed off, and she shrugged. “I don’t know. Perhaps I’m just tired.”
“No wonder if you are, carrying that burden.”
Anne opened her mouth, and then closed it again. “Yes.”
“Annie.” Giles held her shoulders lightly, his eyes intent on hers. “You’re not alone anymore. You do know that?”
“Yes, I do.” Anne returned the gaze, seeing in his eyes depths she had never noticed before. In that moment she fell finally, completely and irrevocably, in love with him. He wanted her. She could tell, not just from the heat of his body, but from the way he looked at her. Why not? Had she not sometimes wondered, when she was with Freddie, what that part of marriage would have been like with Giles? She was free, now, with no one to answer to but herself, and a great need to be held, to be loved. And then?
She pulled away, pushing her hair back over her shoulders. “I can’t, Giles.”
Giles didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “I’m not asking you for anything you can’t give, Annie.”
“It’s something I may never be able to give you, Giles.” She faced him squarely. “I know you’re not Freddie, but neither am I the girl you once knew. I used to take chances, Giles. Not anymore.
“I understand,” he said softly, after a moment, making Anne blink back tears. Anger, unreasoning and irrational, rose within her. He shouldn’t be so understanding, not in this! He should fight for her, press her, and then—
And then she could claim, in self-righteous indignation, that it hadn’t been by her choice, thus putting all the responsibility on him. How despicable she was, she thought, dispassionately. When—if—she ever made love with Giles, she would not do so as she once had with Freddie, unthinkingly, trying to escape a pain that would not go away. She was a mature woman now, and that was how she would give her love. If she ever could.
“You deserve better than me, Giles,” she whispered, and jumped to her feet, running from the room to the sanctuary of her room.
“Annie,” Giles said, and stopped. All he could do for her was to let her go. To chase her, to persuade her to say with him, would be wrong, after what she had just revealed. It would be forcing her into something for which she was not ready, making him as bad, in his own way, as Freddie had been. Anne deserved better.
He twisted on the sofa, pouring out the same sherry that Anne had earlier refused. A fine Amontillado, this, but he drank it down without noticing its taste. Tonight the gap between him and Anne seemed very wide, indeed.
Setting down the glass on the sofa table, he lifted his candle and turned away. He had time to bridge that gap, now that he knew what had caused it. At least, he hoped he had. Something had happened to him a few moments ago, when he had looked into Anne’s eyes and seen there only candor and vulnerability. He had thought he loved her before; now he knew that what he’d felt was only an infinitely tiny measure of what his love for her could be. He was totally, irrevocably in love with her. The thought of living the remainder of his life without her was insupportable. Somehow, he would win out over her memories, and the pain of the past. He had to. His very survival depended upon it.
“Now where is that bonnet?” Anne muttered, rummaging among the boxes in her dressing room. “I know I put it here. Are you sure you didn’t move it, Jenny?”
“Yes, miss, I’m certain.” Jenny, her maid, lifted the lid off one box, peered inside, and shook her head. “It’s not here, ma’am, but I’d swear I put it away right there.”
“Yes.” Anne looked up at the shelf. She’d seen
the box there, too. Now what was she to do? She had an appointment to go driving with Ian Campbell, and she was already late. Worse, that bonnet was the only one that matched the walking dress she was wearing, of an unusual shade somewhere between lavender and blue. Nothing else would quite do. “Oh, bother. I hate wearing hats. I suppose I’ll have to change.”
“Maybe Terence has it,” Jamie, sitting on the chaise longue, piped up.
Anne exchanged a glance with Jenny. “Why would Terence have it, pet?”
“To play a joke, of course.” Jamie’s eyes sparkled. “He said he’d put it on Prinny’s statue—”
“When did he say this, Jamie?”
“This morning, Mama.” He jumped off the chaise. “Shall I go ask him for you, Mama?”
“Just a moment.” Anne held out her hand. “You know where to find him?”
“Of course.” Jamie looked surprised, as if he were trying to fathom the ways of adults. “He’s just downstairs, Mama.”
“Just—I’m coming with you, Jamie.”
“Oh, ma’am.” Jenny wrung her hands. “Shouldn’t you tell his Grace first? To face a ghost alone—”
“Oh, he’s not a ghost,” Jamie said, cheerfully. “He said that was a joke, too. Come on, Mommy!” He tugged at Anne’s hand. “Let’s hurry before he gets busy with something.”
“Jamie,” Anne gasped as he pulled her along the hall to the stairs. “Who is it?”
“I can’t tell you, Mommy. I promised. Look! There’s your bonnet.”
Anne stopped at the foot of the stairs. Her bonnet was, indeed, gracing the bust of the Prince, which stood on a table in the front hall. Anne’s lips twitched. “Rather fetching. I’d like to meet Terence, Jamie. Will you find him for me?”
“But he’s right here, Mommy. Terence!” Jamie called, and ran across the hall, throwing his arms around the legs of the man who stood there. Benson, their very proper butler.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Anne stared for a moment and then, her legs going weak, collapsed on the stairs in gales of laughter. “B-Benson? Are you telling me, Jamie, that our ghost is B-B-Benson?”