by Delia Parr
“Mr. Philip is in residence, and he’s entertaining tonight,” the housekeeper explained when she rejoined them. “Before anyone comes downstairs, please allow me to extend to you best wishes from the entire staff, sir.”
“Best wishes?” Harrison managed and dismissed the notion that he should have taken Annabelle’s suggestion not to enter the house through the front door. Instead, he tried to wrap his mind around the fact that they were not alone in the house, as well as the highly improbable notion that news of his marriage had somehow reached the city.
“On your recent marriage, of course. We’re all delighted.” She walked over to the narrow rosewood side table next to the staircase and handed him a copy of The Philadelphia Inquirer.
He heard Annabelle gasp slightly, but he was far more interested in reading the announcement printed above the fold on the first page, fully aware that she had leaned closer and was also silently reading it:
Readers will be delighted to learn that the city’s most eligible bachelor, Harrison Graymoor, has wed, although many of this city’s maidens are bound to be disappointed. He is expected to return to the city with his bride very soon, at which time we will be providing the details surrounding this most newsworthy event, which may well be the highlight of this year’s social news.
Shocked, Harrison struggled to maintain control and grimly handed the newspaper back to the housekeeper. Gauging his sour mood, she quickly disappeared, leaving him standing in the foyer alone, with Annabelle at his side. He looked down at the trembling woman by his side and saw the same disbelief and distress he felt etched into her pale features.
“H-how could you let this happen?” she whispered.
“Obviously, I didn’t ‘let this happen.’ I didn’t want anyone here to learn of our marriage any more than you did.” He raked his hand through his hair.
“What are you going to do now?”
“Obviously our plans to keep this marriage secret, as well as the eventual annulment, are no longer viable.” Frustration made his words short and clipped. His mind raced to formulate another plan of action before anyone ventured downstairs.
“But what are you going to do about it?” she asked, taking a step back, as if she were prepared to rush right back out the door and disappear if she did not like the answer he gave her.
“I don’t know,” he murmured. “But for now, I suggest we take the servants’ staircase in the back of the house to the third floor before anyone else knows we’re here.” He was unwilling to even think about the many notables his cousin had likely gathered together on the second floor for one of his fund-raising events.
But he was too late.
They had barely taken two steps when he heard the door at the top of the stairs open and someone rush down the steps. “Cousin! You’re back!”
Harrison recognized Philip’s voice and fought the urge to run straight back to him and strangle him. Literally.
Instead, he stopped and turned around, urging Annabelle to do the same, but kept her standing slightly behind him. “Don’t say a word. Just follow my lead,” he whispered before he glared at the man who approached them wearing a grin on his face that Harrison could only describe as indescribably silly for a man who was only a few years shy of forty.
“Cousin!” he exclaimed, using the familial term again instead of Harrison’s given name, which was his most annoying custom. “Mrs. Faye informed me that your coach had pulled up. I’m sorry for rushing down so quickly, but I simply could not wait any longer to welcome you back and meet your new wife,” he said and extended his hand.
Begrudgingly, Harrison accepted his cousin’s handshake. “Philip. You seem to appear and disappear—”
“At the most inconvenient of times, I know. But this time, let me be quick to apologize. If I’d known you were returning tonight with your bride, I would have changed my plans. By the time we received word you were coming home, it was too late to cancel my dinner party. Besides, the shortage of firewood in the city is so severe, forcing the price beyond the means of far too many souls, that I simply had to help raise funds to provide them with some relief one last time before I left the city.” He leaned around Harrison to get a better look at Annabelle.
“She’s lovely. Quite lovely indeed. Now hurry and introduce us before everyone else pours downstairs to get a glimpse of her,” he insisted before he addressed Annabelle. “I really must get you to tell me how you managed to get this cousin of mine to slip a ring on your finger.”
Harrison fumed. Now he needed to buy a ring, if only to keep up appearances, and he scowled. Although he was an inch or two below six feet, he was still taller and carried more muscle than his slimly built older cousin. Stretching to his full height, he stared down at him. “I’ll introduce you, of course, but I’d also ask you to consider that my wife and I are quite fatigued from travel. Neither one of us is prepared to visit with you or anyone else tonight,” he explained.
When Annabelle shyly stepped forward, he quickly introduced her to Philip, who kissed the back of her hand and offered her a smile of approval. “You look remarkably beautiful, in spite of your travel,” he murmured. “I’m looking forward to getting to know you a bit before I leave for Boston. I’d almost given up hope that Harrison would ever settle down.”
Harrison dismissed the odd twinge of jealousy that coursed through his body as nothing more than the direct result of his fatigue, rather than any concern that Philip was being overly attentive to Annabelle. Placing his hand gently at her back, he nodded to Philip. “If you’ll excuse us, my wife and I would both like to retire, and I’d appreciate it if you would not mention anything about our arrival to your many guests.” He then urged a quiet and totally amenable Annabelle toward the back of the foyer.
“Harrison Graymoor! If you think you can bring home a bride and fail to introduce us, you’re quite mistaken, young man.”
He stopped abruptly, recognizing the voice immediately. Glancing at Annabelle, he noted his own disappointment and frustration mirrored in her wide eyes. There were many people he could dismiss, by virtue of his standing in this community, or disarm with a smile.
Unfortunately, Mrs. John Wilshire III was not one of them.
As one of the city’s social elites, the elderly matron prided herself on her ability to spread as much gossip as possible, but she was also one of Philip’s major contributors to the many charitable causes he had taken up.
When Harrison turned around to reply to her, he was even more dismayed to see that she was not alone. Many, if not all, of his cousin’s guests were filing down the staircase to join Mrs. Wilshire in the foyer. He would be hard pressed to escape without providing them with at least some of the details surrounding his marriage, and he drew in a long, deep breath of air to try to clear his head.
As easy as it was for him to fully engage and entertain most people—especially an attractive woman he found even mildly interesting—it was hard for him to think of a way to satisfy everyone in the crowd of men and women before him. At least in a way that would make his ultimate decision to end his marriage seem reasonable.
Swallowing hard, he took Annabelle’s trembling hand in his own and saw her tuck her other hand within the folds of her skirt, no doubt hiding the fact that she had no wedding ring on her finger. He plastered a smile on his face, and he was pleased when Annabelle did the same.
“What are you going to tell them all?” she whispered as she stepped a bit closer to him.
He forced himself to smile. “As little as possible,” he murmured. “I suggest you simply agree with whatever I say or do.”
“That’s worked well for both of us so far tonight, hasn’t it?” she quipped.
“You really don’t know how to hold your tongue, do you?” he countered, unaccustomed to having anyone, especially an attractive young woman, criticize him. Before she could give him an equally unwelcome retort, he walked her back to greet Mrs. Wilshire and made one general introduction by announcing Annabelle’s fir
st name and the fact that they were married a little over a week ago after a whirlwind courtship. “I know you’ll all forgive me if I wait until another time to introduce each of you individually to my wife. We’ve been traveling practically nonstop since yesterday. She has a rather delicate constitution and needs her rest.”
Mrs. Wilshire narrowed her gaze, and she studied Annabelle as intently as she would inspect an exquisite, extremely valuable painting to determine if it was authentic or merely a counterfeit. “Is that the hint of a bruise around your eye?” she asked, inviting the others to lean forward for a better look.
Harrison froze the moment he looked down at her face. While the bruise was barely detectable by daylight, he realized, too late, that it was quite noticeable under the glaring light of the chandelier, and he wondered how Philip could have missed it.
Before he could come up with a reasonable explanation for her bruise, Annabelle smiled sweetly. “I’m afraid it is,” she said softly and gripped his hand even harder, silently warning him to hold his own tongue. “We were riding last week when we were accosted by thieves who were total brutes. Harrison was gallant enough to risk his own life to save me from being truly injured,” she explained, continuing to weave an incredible tale that twisted the actual facts into a story that had the entire audience of guests mesmerized into believing he had been quite a hero, even at the cost of suffering injuries to himself in order to protect her.
Mrs. Wilshire dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief as she apparently embraced the fairy tale Annabelle had created, which Harrison knew would lead the other guests to accept it, as well. She looked up at him and smiled. “I always knew you would make your parents proud someday, and now you’ve proved yourself to be a true hero who rescued a beautiful maiden in distress. And she stole your heart away, didn’t she?”
Annabelle’s smile grew. “I believe he stole mine first,” she murmured as if she really meant it and smiled up at him, too.
“Do let me see your wedding ring,” the elderly woman insisted.
“I haven’t purchased a ring yet,” Harrison said quickly. “I was waiting until we returned to the city so I could choose something as extraordinary as my wife.” He offered the woman a smile that left her blushing.
Annabelle looked up at him with a grateful smile before turning to face Philip and his guests again. “I hope you all won’t be dreadfully disappointed, but my husband still isn’t completely recovered from his injuries and needs to rest. If you’ll excuse us for now, I’m hopeful that we’ll be able to spend time with each of you very soon.”
Mrs. Wilshire clucked her approval, no doubt giving them her permission, which no one among the assembled guests would dare protest. Harrison led his new bride away and limped slightly to give the impression that the injury to his thigh had not healed, even though it had.
When they were still within sight, but out of earshot, he leaned toward Annabelle. Although he was completely surprised at how quickly she had been able to spin a tale that stretched and reworked the truth, he could not imagine why she had chosen to make him out as a hero. “Wherever did you learn to invent a story like that so quickly and easily?”
“I had a teacher once who was a master storyteller,” she murmured.
He pondered why her voice sounded rather sad as he followed her up the stairs. He also wondered what he could do come morning to get them beyond the reach of the city’s gossipmongers. Fast. Before Annabelle met anyone else and embellished the tale she had told that would truly paint him an unredeemable cad when he had their marriage annulled and set her aside.
And before Philip could complicate his life any more than he already had before he returned to Boston to spend the Christmas season with his sister and her family.
Harrison paused as he joined her on the landing of the second floor, inspired by an idea. The muted sounds of gaiety, if not gossip, just on the other side of the wall convinced him that moving out to Graymoor Gardens, his country estate just west of the city, was not merely brilliant or convenient. It was absolutely necessary.
He placed his hand at her elbow and guided her down a narrow expanse toward the second set of steps leading up to the sleeping rooms on the third floor. At this point, he himself barely had the energy to walk, and he was not surprised that she was now leaning on his arm for support. “We’re both exhausted, but there’s much to be done tomorrow morning. I’ll be leaving at first light to see my lawyer, as I’ve promised, but I expect you to keep several early-morning appointments that I’ve arranged, as well,” he informed her.
She stopped abruptly and looked up at him. “Appointments for me? Tomorrow? Why?” she whispered as her voice cracked. Her features were etched with exhaustion, but he had never seen her eyes well with tears before, not once during the entire fiasco of their enforced marriage.
“I’m sorry. I know how difficult this must be for you, but after tomorrow, I promise you’ll feel much better about this whole situation.”
She sighed and swiped at her tears. “I don’t think I can face another night like this one.”
He smiled. “You won’t have to. If all goes as planned, we’ll be leaving tomorrow, right after dinner,” he promised. He was confident that Graymoor Gardens was exactly the right place to keep her isolated from society, yet still be able to monitor her every move. Living there would also give him the privacy he needed for himself, and he made a mental note to tell Graham, one of his drivers, that he would also be moving there temporarily so Harrison would have a private coach at his disposal.
The only negative aspect of his plan, however, was a big one, but he needed a good night’s rest before he tackled the worst problem he would find waiting for him at Graymoor Gardens: Irene, the well-intentioned but troublesome woman who was the head housekeeper there.
Chapter Seven
By ten o’clock the following morning, Annabelle had bathed, dressed, and met with three different women, each with a unique talent with the needle who had come to the residence at Harrison’s request. In quick succession, a number of other tradespeople came and went, ending with the middle-aged woman standing behind her who had come to trim and style her hair.
Annabelle stared into the mirror hanging just above the rosewood dressing table and blinked hard when she ventured a first look at the woman’s handiwork. Her hair had been parted in the middle, as usual, but instead of fashioning a thick braid or winding it into a bun at the nape of her neck, which was her wont, Mrs. Lynch had smoothed her hair over her ears and arranged her long blond hair into a sculptured mass of curls that fell to the middle of her back.
Annabelle shook her head and met Mrs. Lynch’s gaze. “I appreciate what you’ve done, but I’m afraid this is far too fancy for everyday.”
The woman’s cheeks blushed deep pink. “Mr. Harrison sent instructions that I should teach you how to do it. It shouldn’t take but a few days of practice—”
“Men should know better than to tell a woman what to do when it comes to her hair,” Annabelle murmured. She was still annoyed that he had also been quick to give his own instructions to all the other tradespeople he had sent to her this morning. But she had been equally assertive and adjusted his requests to better suit her, and she was fully prepared to defend her decisions if and when he offered any objection.
“Surely there must be a simpler way to fix my hair to meet my husband’s expectations as well as my own,” she prompted.
Mrs. Lynch nodded, her eyes bright. “There may be something,” she said, sorting through the valise containing her tools of the trade. Eventually she pulled out a ball of tan netting, which she smoothed before placing one edge at the top of Annabelle’s head. Working quickly, she started tucking all the blond curls into the netting. “Snoods aren’t exactly all the rage here, but they’re still quite popular in Europe where women have worn them, off and on, for centuries. I just carry this one to show my clients what they’re like,” she explained. “My daughter has made a fair number of them out of lace and
such for evening wear. She doesn’t have many clients yet, but most of them are younger women, like yourself, although I’m not certain the gentlemen like them, as well.”
Annabelle grinned. “I should like to order one or two from your daughter, I think. Actually, this particular snood would serve rather well for everyday, and it seems simple enough to use.”
Mrs. Lynch eased the snood away from Annabelle’s hair and handed it to her. “Here. Try putting it on yourself before you decide,” she prompted and watched carefully as Annabelle attempted to put the snood back in place. “I do believe men can get used to most anything a woman wants to do—especially a woman as beautiful as you are, if you’ll forgive me for saying so.”
Annabelle dismissed the woman’s compliment as nothing more than an attempt to please her and concentrated on replacing the snood precisely where Mrs. Lynch had put it. On her second attempt, she had it perfectly in place and smiled.
“Well done!” the woman murmured.
Pleased to think how much time she could save by tucking her hair into a snood instead of fashioning it into a braid or a bun, Annabelle smiled. “I think we’ve found the perfect solution. I’d like to keep this one, if I may.”
Mrs. Lynch moistened her lips. “I have others at my shop which are closer in color to your hair. I can send one right out to you this afternoon, if you like. I can also make a list of others you could order from my daughter, or I can send her here—”
“Let’s make a list,” Annabelle suggested, returning the snood, and then quickly fashioning her hair into a long braid.
Half an hour later, Mrs. Lynch left with an order for two snoods for day wear and three snoods Annabelle would use for evening, which would go well with the day dresses and gowns she had reluctantly ordered. They amounted to less than half of what Harrison had instructed her to do.
Exhausted by her busy morning, Annabelle lay down on the bed, too tired to think why she should need any gowns at all, since she and Harrison were supposed to be leaving right after dinner. “Not that I have a single clue about where we’re going,” she grumbled. She crossed her arms over her chest and glanced around the elegantly appointed bedroom. Surrounded by a single room of furniture that would have taken her father two lifetimes or more to afford, and lying on bedclothes made of silk and trimmed with lace so delicate it must have been imported from Europe, she had never felt more uncomfortable in her life.