Hidden Affections

by Delia Parr

  She eased her door closed before she let her tears fall free and climbed into bed. Pain unlike any she had ever known filled every corner of her heart and soul. Once she pulled the bedcovers around her, she buried her face in her pillow and cried until she had no more strength . . . and then she cried some more for being such a fool.

  She had been humiliated and distraught when Eric divorced her, but she was beyond devastated now. Not simply because Harrison had helped her to discover the miracle of true and abiding love. But because she knew she had just lost any hope that one day he might have loved her, too.

  When her tears were spent and her body was nearly numb with exhaustion, she used what little strength she had left to sit up and make an entry in her diary before she was too mired in self-pity to remember to record today’s treasure in her diary:

  Today I was blessed to realize that I have fallen in love with a good and decent man. And though I have lost him forever, I will treasure the precious days we shared together.

  She stared at the entry until her tears began to fall again. Sighing, she closed her diary and prayed she might one day remember the joy of loving him instead of feeling only the pain of knowing he would never forgive her or be able to love her in return.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Early Monday morning, Annabelle followed Irene up the narrow staircase to the cottage garret with a heavy heart.

  She had not seen or talked to Harrison for four days, ever since she had confessed to the secret she had been keeping from him, and she was beginning to wonder if he was planning to avoid her altogether and simply send his lawyer with the news of their divorce instead of bringing it to her himself.

  When she reached the last step, Irene was literally beaming with the biggest smile she had worn since learning of Ellis’s death. “Well, what do you think?”

  She glanced around and caught a bit of Irene’s excitement. “I think you’ve done amazing work up here,” she said. Although the garret had been transformed into a suitable room, it was still very cold. But bright sunshine streamed through the freshly washed windows at either end of the long, narrow room and reflected on the worn, but polished, floorboards.

  Because of the sloped eaves, most people, including Irene, would only be able to stand up in the very center of the room, but Annabelle’s short stature proved to be an advantage as she walked around. She passed by a pair of child-sized chairs and an old rocking chair Alan had repaired that had been grouped together on top of a serviceable rug braided with remnants of outdated clothing Irene had found in some old trunks that looked as if they had been worn before Annabelle was born.

  When she stopped next to a bed tucked under one of the eaves, Irene walked toward her.

  “That’s a trundle bed, so I’m hoping it’ll serve for Melanie and the girls.”

  “I don’t recall Melanie mentioning in her letter how old the girls were, but since she and Ellis were only married for seven years, they can’t be much older than five or six. They should fit,” Annabelle replied.

  Irene pointed to a far corner. “I’ve got a cradle over there, just in case the youngest one is still a babe, and there are the two trunks I cleared out for whatever they bring with them. The warming stove, which should arrive in another week or so, should keep them cozy.”

  Shivering, Annabelle walked over to Irene, put her arm around her, and hugged her close. “You’ve thought of everything. Melanie and the girls should be very pleased. They’re very blessed to have a place here with you instead of a boardinghouse where they wouldn’t have anyone to care about them like you will.” She tried not to dwell on the reality that she would soon have to say good-bye to the only friend she had left in the world.

  “You’re cold. I told you to put on a sweater before you came up here. Let’s get you back to the kitchen, where I can fix you something to warm you up again,” Irene insisted and led her back to the staircase. “Those steps are mighty steep. You go first. That way if I stumble a bit, you can catch me.”

  “Who’s going to catch me if I lose my balance?” Annabelle teased and started down the staircase.

  “I don’t know, but it won’t be that husband of yours. He’s as rare to see these days as a smile upon your own face.” Irene put one hand on Annabelle’s shoulder for support and followed her down the steps.

  Annabelle knew she owed Irene an explanation for keeping to her room and completely avoiding her these past few days while she decided when and how she would leave Graymoor Gardens on her own terms instead of Harrison’s. She also desperately needed Irene’s help to carry out the plans she had made to leave, but she could not afford to have their conversation overheard.

  By the time she reached the sun-drenched kitchen, where dinner was bubbling on the cookstove, she knew there was one place that afforded the privacy she needed. And since the clouds had finally decided to let the sun make an appearance today, this was the one day that would make it bearably pleasant.

  Irene’s feet had scarcely touched the kitchen floor before Annabelle set her plan into motion. She looked at Irene and grinned. “I have an idea.”

  Irene narrowed one eye. “What might that be?”

  “Let’s go on a picnic.”

  “Did you say a picnic?” Irene asked and shook her head as if she were trying to clear out her ears.

  “There’s nothing wrong with your hearing,” Annabelle teased. “I’m going back to the main house to get my cape and a couple of blankets. While I’m there, I’ll tell Peggy and Lotte that we won’t be joining everyone else for dinner. In the meantime, you need to pack up some dinner for us and dress warm. Just be ready to leave by the time I get back. If you take too long, we’ll lose the warmest sun of the day,” she cautioned and hurried down the basement steps.

  Irene called after her, “What if Harrison shows up for dinner? What’s he going to think if he finds out we’ve gone off for a picnic in the middle of winter?”

  Annabelle chuckled, but she did not slow her steps. “Do you care?”

  “Not a whit, but—”

  “Neither do I. Now hurry!”

  The air was still and the sun was uncommonly warm while they ate their picnic dinner on the bench where they had sat together so many times before.

  Now that they were finished, Irene packed what was left of their dinner back into the wicker basket resting between them, but hesitated before she closed the lid. “Are you sure you don’t want to eat that last chicken leg?”

  Annabelle groaned and patted her stomach. “I don’t think I have room left. I’ve already had three helpings of everything. Dinner was truly delicious. Thank you.”

  Irene took a sack of nuts out of the basket and smiled. “It’s about time you started eating normal again. You’ve barely touched your food lately,” she complained. After laying the bag of nuts in her lap, she set the basket on the ground and looked from one direction to the next. “I haven’t seen Jonah for a few days, either. I hope nothing’s happened to the poor thing. I’m afraid I may never see that mangy squirrel again.”

  “Maybe you’ll see him tomorrow morning. It’s rather late in the day now.” Annabelle took a deep breath for the courage she needed to keep to her plan for today. “I’ve wanted to talk to you about something for some time now, but it’s very difficult,” she began. “Did you . . . did you ever have something so very private and painful that you couldn’t talk about it to anyone but God? Not even to your closest and dearest friend?”

  Irene bowed her head and held very, very still. When she finally looked up at Annabelle, her eyes were glistening with tears. “Harrison’s left you, hasn’t he.” It was a simple statement of fact rather than a question that needed to be answered.

  Annabelle blinked back tears of her own. She did not know how Irene was able to know the things she did, but before she could say anything that could possibly ease the woman’s distress, Irene edged closer to her, took her hand, and pressed it to her heart. “I know there’s nothing I can say or do to set thin
gs right between the two of you. I tried my best, but I guess it just wasn’t good enough,” she whispered. “You must know that I treasure you as much as I’d treasure my own daughter, if I had one. I’m so, so sorry Harrison doesn’t see you for the precious woman you are.”

  Annabelle’s heart swelled, and she struggled to find her voice. “I love you, too, and I . . . I shall miss you terribly . . . but there’s something I need you to promise me,” she said, grateful that Irene did not press her for any details of why her marriage to Harrison was ending.

  Irene’s teary gaze brightened. “Anything. Absolutely anything. You have my word.”

  “You must promise me that whatever happens, either before I leave or after, you won’t say anything to Harrison about me or nag him to tell you why we’re no longer going to be together or try to bully him into changing his mind.”

  Irene snorted and dropped their joined hands. “I promise, but I’m not really a bully, am I?”

  Annabelle gave her a skeptical look.

  Irene huffed. “Maybe I am, but only with Harrison. He needs a nudge now and again to keep him on the right path. I’d like to give him a good tongue-lashing right about now, and I’d do exactly that if I hadn’t promised you otherwise.”

  “I do need your help before . . . before I leave,” Annabelle prompted, and she was relieved when the woman’s frown turned up into half a smile. “I don’t know how soon that will be, but it’s likely just a matter of days. I have a number of things I’d like to do, and I’m not even certain I can get them done in time. I’d rather not let Harrison know, which means I can’t let Graham drive me into the city or send for a hack. Can you think of any way I can get in and out of the city this afternoon without anyone here knowing it?”

  Irene furrowed her brow for a moment before she brightened. “I might have a way, as long as you’re not fussy about how we do it, but it wouldn’t be until tomorrow.”

  “We?”

  “I’m not letting you go off alone. I’m going with you,” the housekeeper argued.

  “I don’t think that’s wise,” Annabelle countered. “I don’t want you to get into any trouble on my account if Harrison ever found out you helped me, let alone went with me.”

  “Why? What’s he going to do about it? He can’t fire me, remember? The only time I think we could both slip away would be tomorrow. Can you go then, or will that be too late for what you need to do?”

  “I was hoping to go to the Refuge tomorrow for the last time, and I don’t think I can wait until Wednesday.” More than annoyed with herself for wasting the past few days in self-pity, she sighed. “Are you certain we can’t go today?”

  “Not the way I think is best. The only delivery I’m expecting this week is coming tomorrow.”

  Annabelle furrowed her brow. “What does a delivery have to do with my plans?”

  “Everything,” Irene argued. “When they head back to the city, we could go back with them. I’ve done so a few times before, so nobody here will think it all that unusual. If we work it right, they won’t even suspect you went with me if I can figure out a way to get Lotte’s cape for you to wear. She’s not much taller than you are. As long as you keep the hood up and your head down, nobody will be any the wiser.”

  “I think it might work, but I won’t need Lotte’s cape, and we can’t risk having her notice that it’s gone. I’ve got an old cape I can wear. Can you tell me about that boardinghouse in the city that your friend operates?”

  “I’ll do better than that. I can’t promise she’s up to taking boarders, but I’ll take you there tomorrow and we’ll find out.” Irene got to her feet and urged Annabelle to do the same, emptied the sack of nuts on the ground, and picked up the basket. “I know it’s only been a week or so since you posted that letter to Melanie, but do you think we could make a stop in the city while we’re there to see if she’s written back to me yet?”

  “Just in case I have to leave sooner than I expect, I think I’d better go to the Refuge this afternoon. I’ll check for you before I come home. Please tell Graham to get the coach ready for me as quickly as he can,” Annabelle replied and urged her companion to walk just a little faster.

  After a quick change of clothes and an equally quick ride into the city, Annabelle arrived at the Refuge in midafternoon. She left an hour later with her emotions in turmoil. While she was pleased that she was able to say farewell to most of the women and to explain in person that she would not be returning, she was troubled to leave them knowing that no one else was prepared to replace her.

  Graham stopped at the post office on the way home. Rather than take the risk of seeing anyone she knew, especially Harrison, she waited in the coach while he went inside to see if there was a letter from Melanie for Irene. He had only been gone for a few moments when there was a knock at the coach door before it swung open.

  Startled, she clapped her hand to her heart. “Philip!”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I was just posting a letter to my sister in Boston when I ran into Graham, so I thought I’d keep you company while you’re waiting for him,” he offered and climbed aboard, bringing a burst of cold wind with him.

  He sat down across from her and quickly shut the door. “Forgive me if I’m being too bold, but I need to talk to you. I gave up trying to talk to my cousin. He’s as prickly as a cactus and twice as secretive. You haven’t been back to the Refuge since last week, and in all truth, I was prepared to ride out to Graymoor Gardens tomorrow to see if you were all right. I don’t know what’s going on between the two of you, and it’s not my intention to interfere—unless you think it might help.”

  She had to struggle, but she managed to hold back the tears that welled up. “I’m sorry. I . . . I really can’t talk to you about it. You should speak to Harrison, but please don’t push him for answers now. I’m sure he’ll explain everything to you . . . when he’s ready.”

  “Are you certain there’s nothing I can do?”

  When she nodded, he let out a long sigh. “I love my cousin like a brother, but sometimes he can be such a stupid fool,” he grumbled. Then he gazed at her with great tenderness. “I’m sorry. I was hoping I could help, but I’ll do as you ask and hold my counsel. For now.”

  Although she did not dare confide in him, she was relieved that he had agreed not to speak to Harrison. She did, however, take advantage of this unexpected opportunity to speak to him privately before she left. “I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this before, but I’m very grateful to you for making me feel so welcome here and for helping me to start volunteering at the Refuge.”

  He smiled and waved away her words. “There’s no thanks necessary. You’re family. We take care of one another. Despite my impatience with my cousin, I’m certain he isn’t foolish enough to let whatever argument you two have had last much longer.”

  Unable to tell him this could very well be the last time they saw each other or that she would not be a member of his family for much longer, she was relieved when Graham returned to inform her that there was no letter waiting for Irene.

  Philip took the driver’s return as a signal for him to leave, and he disembarked. Before he closed the door, however, he offered her a smile. “You know where to find me if you need anything. Anything at all.”

  She smiled. “I do. Thank you,” she said, managing to hold back her tears until he closed the door. Once they started to fall, she could not stop them, and she finally gave up trying and cried most of the way back to Graymoor Gardens.

  By the time the coach drove up the curved driveway in front of the house, her tears were spent and her cheeks were dry, but her eyes felt thick and scratchy, and she was surprised by how drained and exhausted she felt. To be fair to herself, coming face-to-face with the prospect of losing her friendship with both Irene and Philip in the same day had been hard, and she prayed they would be true to their word and let her leave without confronting Harrison.

  She disembarked as soon as the coach sto
pped and hurried into the house, praying she could get back to her room and put a cold compress on her face before anyone saw her. Her heart was racing as she rushed up the staircase. When she finally reached the safety of her room, she ran inside, shut the door, and closed her eyes as she leaned back against it.

  “I was beginning to wonder if you were coming back.”

  Startled, she opened her eyes. Harrison stood in front of the fireplace, and there were a number of papers and envelopes sitting on the serving table. But instead of the two chairs where they usually sat together, there was only one.

  “Please sit down,” he said. “We need to talk about what we must do, now that I’m able to tell you we’re legally divorced.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Harrison watched Annabelle come toward him as if she were walking to the gallows and he was her executioner.

  He had been angry and deeply disappointed in her for not telling him about her previous marriage and divorce before he learned it from his lawyer. Yet Annabelle had defused that anger and eased his disappointment by being more worried about the consequences he would face as a result of marrying a divorced woman than worrying about being twice divorced herself.

  He had been twice as angry to learn of Bradley’s blackmail attempt and wanted nothing less than the man’s destruction, but again, she had tamed his anger by expressing concern for Bradley’s wife and young son, who could be hurt by anything he chose to do to punish the scoundrel.

  If he thought being apart from her for four days would make it easier to face her now, however, he was proved wrong again the moment she entered the room.

  His heart lurched and his arms ached for want of holding her, and the closer she got to him as she crossed the room, the more he knew it might take a lifetime to forget this beautiful, amazingly gentle and selfless woman. He did not know why he had not told her four days ago that their marriage was over, but he embraced the pain of saying good-bye to her now as the only real choice he had. Not if he had any hope of keeping even more heartache at bay as his parents and brother had suffered.