by Delia Parr
Until she thought about the fortune it must be costing Harrison to supply her with a completely new wardrobe, which went far beyond replacing the meager one that had been stolen. It seemed a terrible waste of money, considering she would only be here for a matter of weeks, or a month at the most.
Dismayed, she closed her eyes and folded her hands together. “Father, I don’t know why you’ve brought me into this man’s life and here to this place, but I trust you. I know that my life will unfold according to your plan, but right now, I don’t understand what that plan might be. You know, above all others, that I have simple needs and that I long for nothing more than to please you. Help me, Father, to accept your will and to use whatever talents you have given me to serve you. Amen,” she whispered.
She was just dozing off to sleep when there was a sharp rap at her door. Sighing, she climbed off the bed and tightened the rose silk robe about her waist that she had found lying across the bed when she arrived last night. “Come in.”
The young servant girl, Lotte, who had brought her breakfast several hours ago, walked into the room carrying a tray. “Mrs. Faye thought you might like some refreshment,” she offered and placed the tray upon a table set near the fireplace.
Annabelle got one whiff and smiled as she walked over to the table. “Is that hot chocolate?” she asked, glancing at the steam coming from the silver pot in the center of the tray.
“Yes, ma’am, it is. There’s an assortment of sweet confections, as well, but if you’d prefer something else, I can get it for you.”
“No, thank you. This is perfectly wonderful,” she said, popping a tiny caramelized treat into her mouth. She savored the sweet, buttery flavor while Lotte poured hot chocolate into a petite silver mug for her. Convinced there were enough sweets stacked on the large oval platter to feed four or five people, she took her seat. “There are far too many sweets here for me. Please, have some,” she insisted.
Lotte backed away from the table. “Oh, I couldn’t do that, Mrs. Graymoor. Not at all.”
“And why not?” Annabelle tried to take a sip of the hot chocolate but quickly set it down to cool a bit.
“Why, it wouldn’t be proper, ma’am. I couldn’t possibly take any. They’re for you, and Mrs. Faye wouldn’t like it at all if I took some.”
“All of this is only for me?”
“Yes, ma’am. Just like Mr. Graymoor instructed.”
Taking a napkin, she wrapped up most of the sweet treats, rose, and handed them to Lotte. “Then consider these a gift, from me to you, and you’re welcome to share them with any of the other members of the staff, if you like. And you don’t need to worry about Mr. Graymoor or Mrs. Faye. If they ask, which is highly unlikely, since they both have far more important things to occupy them, I’ll explain that it was all my idea,” she murmured.
Lotte dropped her gaze. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.” She bobbed a curtsy and quickly left when Annabelle assured her there was nothing more she needed.
Moments later, Mrs. Faye arrived.
Annabelle suspected she might have come to reprimand her and braced herself.
Instead, the woman stood just inside the door, took one glance at the near-empty plate of treats, and quickly erased the look of surprise that flashed through her eyes. “I came to see if you are finding the refreshment to your liking.”
“I am indeed,” Annabelle replied and stifled a grin.
“Now that your appointments for the morning are finished, Mr. Graymoor instructed me to also ask if there’s anything more you’d like that he hasn’t already taken care of for you.”
Overwhelmed by his interest in pleasing her, she dismissed his attentiveness as nothing more than his attempt to keep up appearances, even with his staff. She was inclined to send the woman away without asking for anything more, until she thought of several things that had been stolen from her and one she had destroyed before leaving Four Corners that she wanted to replace. “Actually, I do have a number of items I’d like to have,” she replied and quickly dictated a list.
“I’ll have them delivered to you,” the housekeeper replied, without giving a hint of what she thought of the rather ordinary items on Annabelle’s list. “Mr. Graymoor has sent word that he’s been unavoidably detained and that you’re to leave immediately. He’ll be joining you later, perhaps in time for dinner.”
“Did Mr. Graymoor tell you where we’re going this afternoon?” she asked, reluctant to travel about in a city that was completely unfamiliar to her.
Mrs. Faye tilted up her chin. “He didn’t share that information with me, but even if he had, I wouldn’t be able to tell you. It’s not my place.” She left the room, leaving Annabelle still uncertain about her destination.
“No annulment?”
Incredulous, Harrison leaned forward and stared at his lawyer, who was leaning back in his chair on the opposite side of the desk that separated them. “Why not?”
George Marshall rested his gnarled hands on his well-rounded stomach and sighed. “Plainly speaking, there isn’t a single man in the legislature in Harrisburg dealing with these matters who would be tempted for more than a second to consider that you spent an entire week sleeping with this young woman without consummating the marriage. Not with your reputation—which I daresay I’ve warned you about many, many times.”
“My reputation shouldn’t matter, particularly since my reputation is nothing more than sheer gossip and innuendo,” he spat. “What about the courts? Didn’t you just say we could apply there instead of petitioning the legislature?”
Marshall sat up straight and squared his shoulders. “The men sitting on the Court of Appeals are no different than the legislators. You can’t sweep your reputation aside quite that easily, even with your uncommon wealth.”
Harrison pointed to the pieces of the handcuffs he had salvaged, which were lying next to a sheaf of papers full of notes his lawyer had taken when Harrison first arrived. “What about those handcuffs or this?” he asked before he pulled up the cuff of his shirt to reveal the angry scar that was forming around his wrist—a scar he would carry for the rest of his life. “Even if someone were tempted to dismiss the handcuffs as evidence, surely this scar should prove I was coerced into marrying this woman.”
“The scar proves nothing more than the fact you wore a handcuff that was too small for you. Unless you can bring forward some witness who would be willing to testify on your behalf—”
“Forget it.” Harrison snorted and leaned against the hard back of the chair. “Jenkins wouldn’t testify on my behalf under any circumstances.”
“Perhaps rightly so, since you were so unduly attentive to his wife,” the lawyer admonished. “What about the sheriff or the other two men you say were with him?”
Harrison shook his head.
Marshall shifted through the papers stacked in front of him. “Is there any chance Reverend Wood would step forward to corroborate your claims?”
“Hardly,” he retorted. “I don’t think he could see well enough to even notice the barrel of the rifle shoved against my back.”
Instead of offering any other ideas, Marshall turned to study the notes he had taken while Harrison gave an account of the past week. “By my count, there are half a dozen other people who knew about the marriage, including the innkeeper and his wife. Were any of them present during the actual ceremony?”
“No, but couldn’t Annabelle sign some sort of affidavit to verify my testimony? I’m quite certain that she’d be agreeable.”
Harrison’s words finally brought a smile to the lawyer’s face. “Are you really that certain?”
“Of course I am. She is just as opposed to the marriage as I am.”
His lawyer shrugged. “Even if you’re right, she’s the aggrieved party here, and I highly doubt her word would be taken as fact, at least not until the proper number of months have passed. Once the possibility that she might be with child has been eliminated, I could take her statement and try to persuade—”
Harrison’s heart pounded in his chest. “Wait nine months? Never. It’s out of the question. I need this matter resolved much more quickly. In fact, I want this marriage ended by the end of January, at the latest. If that means I have to settle for divorcing her, then so be it.”
“Remember what I told you,” his lawyer cautioned. “Legislative issues and court decisions are a matter of public record and reported in the press on a daily basis and draw particular attention when they involve someone as well-known as you are. It’s one thing to request an annulment, but it’s quite another to ask for and be granted a divorce. You’d find yourself shunned by most everyone who is important in this city and shame the very name you carry. The stigma of divorce would also guarantee that you’d never find a suitable young woman to marry one day.”
“I’m not interested in being married. Not now. Not ever,” Harrison said firmly, surprised that his lawyer would bring up such a sensitive topic when he knew full well that Harrison had good reason for remaining a bachelor. “Are you quite certain there’s no other possible recourse?” he asked, hinting at the possibility that a few well-placed bribes might be the best approach.
Marshall frowned. “None that are legal, although there may be something I could suggest, since you seem so determined to get a quick resolution,” he mumbled, then turned and opened a drawer on the side of the desk. He set several papers on top of the desk and read them before meeting Harrison’s gaze. “I have several reports here that indicate you might easily be granted a divorce elsewhere.”
Harrison’s heart pounded with hope. “Go on.”
“Apparently, Indiana is emerging as a state intent on attracting new settlers. There’s even a circuit court in each county with the power to grant divorces rather quickly.”
Harrison’s hope quickly evaporated, and he snorted. “That’s all well and good, but I don’t live in Indiana.”
“You can purchase property to qualify. A lawyer representing your interests could also petition for a divorce on your behalf, but I have no indication in these reports that they consider annulments at all, which means you’ll have to settle for a divorce. At most, considering the travel involved, I should think it might take a matter of a month or two, perhaps less, which would certainly meet your expectations to have your marriage legally ended by the end of January. I couldn’t possibly travel that far, mind you, but I have a young lawyer in mind who might be interested.”
Harrison let out a long breath of air. “Do it. Hire whomever you want and do whatever you think is necessary to make this divorce happen, and be certain that the settlement you prepare for Annabelle is substantial enough to allow her to live comfortably,” he said firmly, satisfied but not wholly pleased that there seemed to be a way out of the mess he had created for himself. “Just be discreet.”
“As always,” the lawyer replied. “I’ll talk to Blair Fennimore about representing you for the divorce and have him get in touch with you.”
“I’d rather meet with him right away,” Harrison countered, even though it meant he would have to delay leaving the city for another hour or two. “I’ve arranged to send Annabelle ahead to Graymoor Gardens without me, just in case the snowstorm that’s threatening makes travel by coach difficult,” he explained. “I’d rather not get stranded here in the city while she’s alone with Irene for more than a few hours, but I’m not leaving the city without the documents I need Annabelle to sign.”
His lawyer chuckled. “Knowing Irene, you probably should have waited to take Annabelle there with you. In any event, I’ll send a messenger to Fennimore and tell him that you need to see him here immediately.” He quickly wrote a brief note and sent one of the two clerks in the office to deliver it. “Have you given any thought to what you’re going to do about Vienna Biddle? I understand her father is rather piqued that you married someone other than his daughter.”
Harrison drew in a long breath of air. “Not really,” he admitted.
They continued to discuss a number of financial matters while they waited for Fennimore to arrive. When Harrison finally left his lawyer’s office, he had signed all the necessary papers, received Fennimore’s promise that he would leave at first light for Indiana, and lined the man’s pockets with more than enough coins to assure his loyalty as well as his discretion.
Anxious to exit the city, he hurried to complete one last task, one he never, ever believed he would be doing: He had to buy a wedding ring.
Chapter Eight
Once an outcast in her hometown after being divorced, Annabelle was again being forced into exile.
She parted the curtain on the private coach carrying her westward to a country estate she had never seen and caught one last glimpse of the city. A thick glob of clouds overhead completely obscured a weak winter sun, and the still-frigid air was ripe with the promise of a snowstorm.
Graham, the driver who was also moving out to the country estate while she and Harrison resided there, drove the coach down Market Street. Traffic was extremely light, and she was able to note the orderly grid design of the intersecting streets that were set at right angles from one another. Nothing looked familiar to her, however, since they had arrived last night well after dark.
Sighing, she dropped the curtain back into place and leaned into the thick velvet cushion at her back. Feeling as if she had been lost in a maze where she was finding one disappointment after another, she removed one of her gloves to reach inside her cape. She wrapped her fingers around the knitting stick once again secured at her waist and closed her eyes.
With the rocking motion of the coach soothing her tangled nerves, she held on tight to memories of home and the parents who had loved her and raised her, by example, in the faith that was the only constant in her life. With another sigh, she surrendered her dreams of a life as a wife and hopefully a mother someday. Oh, to have had them snatched away from her for the second time.
Annabelle did not know the exact legal steps Harrison’s lawyer would have to take to get their marriage annulled, but she contented herself with the knowledge that her husband had both the desire and the wealth to guarantee the annulment would be granted as quickly as possible. All she had to do was find a way to survive until then.
Less than forty minutes after leaving the Graymoor mansion, the coach stopped and the driver opened the door. Without saying a word he helped her to disembark, nodded, and returned to his seat. A gentle but steady snow with infinitely small flakes brushed at her face as she watched the coach travel back along the circular drive before heading back to the city proper to bring Harrison here.
Once the coach was out of view, she turned around to face the house she would now call home. It sat atop a high knoll that was surrounded by massive barren trees with thick limbs that reached out to catch the falling snow. The square building was covered with white stucco, and was much smaller and simpler in design than the formal mansion she had just left.
She did not have to worry about neighbors here, since the closest home they had passed was a good several miles away. On the eastern side of the house, the outline of what appeared to be a small wall surrounded a portico that overlooked a heavily wooded landscape ending at the banks of the Schuylkill River. Shivering, she caught a glimpse of drifting blocks of ice floating by before starting for the front door.
As she walked she saw several outbuildings on the western side of the house, including a stable and what appeared to be a small cottage where smoke billowed from the chimney. She tugged her cape a bit tighter, prayed that she would be able to quickly warm up again, and proceeded up the short walkway to the rather plain wooden front door, where deep blue shutters hugged the windows on either side of the door, as well as the two windows on the second floor. Heavy woolen drapes, however, blocked any view of the interior.
Annabelle approached the front door, mindful of the stiff formality of the staff she had left behind in the city. She’d found it disconcerting, and she was surprised when here she had to use the brass kno
cker on the door not once, but twice. She was about to knock a third time when the door swung open, revealing a woman with gray-streaked hair wearing a thick woolen sweater with the most ample bosom Annabelle had ever seen on such a slender woman.
Standing just inside the doorway, the woman hurriedly finished wiping her hands and shoved a well-soiled cloth into her apron pocket. “Come in, come in, although I can’t promise you’ll be completely out of the cold,” she urged, promptly closing the door once Annabelle was inside.
Within a heartbeat, Annabelle found herself being hugged as hard as if she were a long-lost friend, and the hood on her cape slipped back.
“You must be Miss Annabelle. Welcome! I’m Widow Cannon. I’m the head housekeeper here at Graymoor Gardens. We didn’t expect you till close to suppertime. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting. As luck would have it, I was just wiping down the balustrade; otherwise, I never would have heard you knocking,” she gushed.
She had barely paused long enough to take a breath before she set Annabelle back and studied her from head to toe, clucking her approval. “Even with that bruise you got from those horrid men who robbed the stage, you’re just a picture of goodness itself, just like I heard. You’re not a city girl, are you?”
Still reeling from this most unexpected welcome and surprised that news had spread this far, Annabelle twisted at the folds of her cape. “No. I grew up in Four Corners, about a two days’ ride from Hanover in the western region of the state. How could you possibly know—”