Realization crashed over me. It all made so much sense! How could I have missed it?
“Owen,” I said. Saying his name aloud sounded like complete truth to my ears, and I scolded myself for not realizing it sooner. A feeling of resentment settled between my hot anger and confusion. Why hadn’t Owen told me? I had convinced him to revisit the place and he hadn’t even told me the truth.
Grandmother gave a tight-lipped nod. “Indeed. And that is why Miss Charlotte Lyons cannot have him. Her mother discovered the truth about Owen’s inheritance when Alice let the news slip while she was dining with the family at Eshersed Park.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Much like you just let the news slip to me?”
“Ah, but it is different. You will not spread the gossip around town or try to ensnare the poor boy.” She grinned, reassured.
“But if Owen arrives and sees that everyone is under the impression that I am engaged to marry him, that is exactly what he will think. He will think that I am trying to ensnare him!” The truth of my words hit me hard with potent fear. That could not happen.
“Nonsense. I will take care of everything. Please play along. I beg you.”
I shook my head, holding my stance. “No. I’m sorry. But you must tell them the truth.”
“I cannot.” Her voice was firm, losing its giddy tone.
“Then I will.” I held her gaze with defiance that I didn’t feel. “The truth will come out no matter how long you delay it. Willowbourne isn’t far from here. Owen could be back as soon as tonight.” The fear in my stomach punched at me. I swallowed and wiped my sweaty palms down my skirts. “What about your daughter?”
Grandmother grinned, not the least bit distressed. “I have already informed her.”
“Of what?”
“Your engagement, of course.”
My jaw dropped. That was the “news” Mrs. Kellaway had congratulated me for! Shaking my head, I put my face in my hands, trying to somehow hide from my predicament.
“Now, now, no need to despair. As soon as Miss Lyons leaves, I shall confess to my scheme.”
I parted my hands. “What if, perchance, Owen arrives prior to Miss Lyons’s leave?” I said, reminding her of the most glaring issue.
Grandmother threw out a hand, scrunching up her face. “Nonsense. She will be out the door before we know it.”
I couldn’t believe this was happening. My legs had begun shaking, and my hands were still sweating against my face. “No. I am not doing this. It’s completely absurd. I’m going to tell them the truth right now.”
Then I planted my hands on my hips, turned around, and walked away, promising myself to never trust an old woman ever again. Especially one with a mischievous side.
I may have told Grandmother a bit of a lie. I was not going to tell everyone the truth straight away. I was actually heading straight to my bedchamber to curl up in my bed and try to calm myself and try to disappear. My thoughts were running far too wildly for me to trust them, and I didn’t trust myself to speak. It would only make the situation worse in my current state.
Walking with hurried steps, I stepped back into the entry hall, now empty, and started up the spiral staircase. Anger vented through my huffed breaths, quickening my pulse, and clouding my mind with heat. How dare Grandmother put me in this situation? How dare she expect me to play along without any remorse? I shook my head and cursed Grandmother under my breath.
When I reached the second floor, I nearly collided with Mrs. Kellaway who stood just around the corner at the top of the staircase, talking with Alice and Miss Lyons. I let out a little shriek as I tried to avoid them. Thankfully I skirted around all three before anyone could be knocked to the ground by the force of my steps.
Mrs. Kellaway’s eyes flew open wide and she gasped, placing a hand to her chest. “Good heavens, you gave me a fright!” Then she laughed, chest heaving as she caught her breath.
“I’m sorry,” I said in a glum voice. My little escape plan was now completely foiled. I was standing right before the three misinformed people that needed to know I wasn’t truly engaged to Owen. And I had to be the one to tell them. There was no delaying it now. My jaw set as I locked eyes with Miss Lyons, who looked as frightened as Mrs. Kellaway, her cool blue eyes round, her perfect lips parted.
I wished I could shoot her a glare that would make her even more frightened, but I stopped myself. She had given me no reason to dislike her, but for some reason, I already knew we would not be close friends. Ever. And I knew the truth would do nothing but please her, so a tiny part of me didn’t want to tell it.
I scolded myself for thinking that way, and pushed aside the nervousness and fear within me. There really was nothing to worry about. I could easily make certain they knew it was Grandmother who was responsible for all this.
When I took my next deep breath, it came out as a shudder. I wiped my sweaty palms on my skirts. Go! Say it! I encouraged myself. I tried to plan my words in my head before I spoke, something I was never very good at.
I am not engaged to your son, I rehearsed. I am sorry for the misunderstanding. Your mother is an old, mischievous dolt who finds pleasure in torturing me.
I was pulled from my thoughts when Mrs. Kellaway grasped my hands in hers. I hadn’t even noticed her step closer, or seen her expression change. Her blue eyes were misty and her voice cracked when she said, “I am just so happy to know that you will be my daughter-in-law. I couldn’t have dreamed Owen would choose someone as wonderful as you, Annette. I have never seen him happier than he has been since you arrived here.”
Her words sounded genuine, and they burned me from within. Something else must have made Owen happy, because there was no chance that it could have been me.
But still, her words lingered in the air between us and I just stood there, staring at her tears of joy, staring at my hands that shook in hers, at Alice and her unreadable expression, and at Miss Lyons with her bristled stare.
I felt sick. I felt deceived and trapped and despised. Owen did not propose to me! He did not want me! He didn’t love me. He loved Miss Lyons. And every accusatory, loathsome look she wanted to cast my way was completely justified. I tried to imagine myself in her situation. If I were in love with someone, only to find that he was being taken away by someone else, would I glare at that person? Probably.
Mrs. Kellaway squeezed my hands, stopping their shaking and pulling me from my rambling thoughts yet again. “Thank you,” she said in an airy voice. “As soon as Owen returns, we shall begin wedding preparations.” She released my hands then, and gave her eyes a final wipe.
I wanted to scream, but I didn’t get the chance. Mrs. Kellaway’s mouth broke into a huge smile, and she motioned toward Alice and Miss Lyons. “Have you met my daughter and her friend?”
“Yes,” I said curtly, managing a stiff smile.
She seemed to recognize the awkwardness of the situation between Miss Lyons and me, because her smile dropped suddenly. Silence hung in the air again, so I made a firm decision that I needed to act before I was interrupted. My heart was racing and I was sure it was only a matter of seconds before I vomited or fainted. Or perhaps both, so I needed to get the words out as quickly as possible.
“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” I blurted.
Mrs. Kellaway looked a question at me.
I took a deep breath and tried not to look at Miss Lyons. “I’m not—”
My words were halted by the echo of hurried feet along with the sound of Peter’s panicked voice. “Annette! Charles is stuck!”
I whirled around just in time for Peter to grab my arm. His face was wet where tears had smeared across his freckled cheeks. He sniffed and tugged me in the direction of their room.
I quickly excused myself with a fleeting glance at Mrs. Kellaway, who looked stricken with shock and worry, and ran after Peter down the hall. As we approached my brothers’ room, the soft, dull sound of muffled cries reached my ears. When I stepped through the door, with the sobbing Peter
behind me, I looked around the room frantically, trying to follow the sound with my eyes.
“Where is he?” I asked.
Peter raised a shaking finger in the direction of a short, wooden cabinet with two cupboards and a Charles-sized drawer at the bottom. “W-we just wanted to s-see if he would fit, but the drawer g-got stuck,” Peter sobbed.
“Charles is in there?” I asked in disbelief, running toward the cabinet. I squatted down in front of the little drawer, whimpers and sobs reaching my ears from inside it.
Wasting no time, I grabbed the handle and pulled back with a jerk. But the drawer was, indeed, stuck. I tried the same method, again, and again, each time with renewed vigor. I dug my fingers behind the corners of the drawer and attempted to pry it open. It wouldn’t budge.
Panic set in wholly, making my heart thud in my chest and blood rush past my ears. A sick feeling of dread sent chills tingling down my neck. There was no entrance for air in that drawer. Charles could suffocate within minutes.
My breath came in shallow gasps, and I tried the handle again, pulling with all my strength. It didn’t succumb. I pulled again on the handle, prying with my fingers, wishing desperately for strength beyond my own weak arms and tired fingers. I repeated these futile attempts for several minutes, hating the sound of Charles’s desperate cries, but I wasn’t strong enough.
My mind reeled, struggling for an idea. The air was surely expiring in that drawer and I didn’t know how to open it. I paced in front of the drawer, tugging on the handle vigorously each time I passed it. My rattled breathing and galloping heart were the only sounds I could hear.
The only sounds I could hear. I stopped, panic and cold, raw terror scratching over me with icy fingers.
The crying had stopped.
My breath caught in my chest. Never before had silence had its own sound—its own deafening, sickening sound.
“Charles! Charles!” I yelled, shaking the cabinet now, kicking it, doing anything I could to loosen the drawer. My hands shook, my legs shook, everything shook. The room seemed to be shaking too. “Charles!” My voice shook.
I racked my brain for options, but there was no place for rational thought. I threw myself against the cabinet, grasping the handle in desperation. I got a firm hold, and jerked backward with all my might. A sharp bang cut through the air as the drawer jarred open. Scrambling forward, I looked inside—even though I was afraid of what I would see. Of what I would know. I saw his blond curls first, strewn across his forehead. He lay curled more tightly than I would have thought possible, his hands twisted beneath him, his knees tucked to his chin. I saw his long lashes, curling up from his eyelids that lay closed. His lips were parted slightly, an illusion of breathing. But he did not breathe. He did not make a sound.
A lump tightened my throat, and my chest constricted. I tried to draw breath, but it was like pulling a single thread from an intricate piece of embroidery—taxing and extensive, and not worth the struggle. I was helplessly paralyzed before the sight of my little Charles, white, motionless, and quiet.
But I needed to move. Now.
So reaching inside the drawer, I pulled him out, hooking my trembling hands under his arms. Then I fell back, hugging his limp form to my body. I held him in my arms, cradling his head. He was so small. So young. Too young to die. Something inside of me was crumbling, and it hurt me like a physical blow.
“Charles! Charles!” It was all I could say. I shook him, as if hoping to wake him. My voice cracked, my heart broke, and I almost cried. My fingers found their way to his neck, to the spot just beneath his jaw where a doctor had once checked me. Pressing two fingers against his neck, I froze.
A powerful surge of hope pounded through me. I felt a pulse. A slow, soft pulse almost too discreet to notice. I kept my fingers there, not wanting to abandon the feeling of his heartbeat. Then I saw his chest rise with a broken breath. I gasped with delight.
His eyelids fluttered, twitched, and opened. He gulped for breath, and a new tear leaked from his eye.
I slumped with relief, convinced that I had never truly known relief until this day, and kissed his round cheek, his little nose. I wiped the tear from his temple and took his face in my hands. His eyes were wide, dazed, and alive. That was all I cared about.
“Do not ever do that again.” I gasped, still shaking.
“But—but Peter didn’t think I could fit, and I knew I could fit, so I had to prove it.” His voice was quick, soft, and slightly raspy. And it was my favorite sound in the world.
“Promise me right now that you will never try to prove you can fit in anything ever again. Even if you are certain that you can.”
He looked worried, as if noticing my distress for the first time. “I promise.”
I pulled his head onto my shoulder and rocked him in my lap, squeezing him tightly to make sure he was still there, and that he could still breathe.
From behind me, I heard Peter step up beside me, worry crossing his face for a brief moment as his gaze found his brother. I had nearly forgotten he was here. “Charles?” he said in a tentative voice.
Charles lifted his head from my shoulder and twisted to look at Peter. A smug grin lifted his lips. “I told you I could fit.”
A little laugh escaped from me, transforming into hysterical laughter as it went. I couldn’t control it. And I wasn’t allowed to cry, after all. Laughter was the only way to achieve a sense of release. Peter and Charles stared at me blankly for several seconds before erupting into their own familiar giggles. I felt so much relief and joy that all other dilemmas were pushed aside. I didn’t have to think about Owen or Miss Lyons or the mischievous Grandmother. I could focus on my little brothers, and how grateful I was to have them. To love them, and to be loved by them. It was all my heart wanted.
I didn’t hear Mrs. Kellaway enter the room until she was directly behind me. Her voice was laced with a hint of panic. “Is he all right?”
I turned my head in her general direction, but was too drained of energy to rotate completely around. Smoothing my hand over Charles’s sweat-dampened curls, I nodded.
When I heard no response, I forced myself to turn around. Miss Lyons and Alice stood in the doorway, Miss Lyons chewing a dainty fingernail.
As I looked up at Mrs. Kellaway, she met my gaze with furrows of concern in her brow. She knelt down beside me, and the only sound heard was the fabric of her gown brushing the marble.
“What happened?” she asked, apparently sensing the weight of the situation.
I relayed the details to her briefly, which led to many gasps and heavy exhalations. Saying everything aloud made my previous urge to laugh disperse to nothingness. It was real. I had almost lost Charles. Again, a river of relief cascaded through me as I squeezed him even tighter. He was alive! And to try to comprehend the alternative was unbearable.
After a few minutes, Mrs. Kellaway, her daughter, and Miss Lyons left the room, leaving me to my thoughts and the giggles of my brothers. A tightness gripped my stomach as I remembered everything.
I was still helplessly trapped in Grandmother’s scheme. I had missed the perfect chance to set things straight.
But right now, my opportunity was gone. The only way to console my nerves was to find something else to do, somewhere else to be—something else to think about. And I knew the perfect distraction, the perfect thing.
A
Chapter 16
The stables smelled of wood and animals and every scent that comes with them. After I made certain that Peter and Charles were entertained in Grandfather’s company, I sneaked out to the stables to see the horses and maybe even ride one. Eve stood in her stall, her black coat gleaming like a lake in moonlight.
She whinnied heartily as I approached; her playful eyes and almost-smile turned my way. Dust motes floated visibly above me, seen only as rays of sunshine lit them through the two small windows. Scraps of discarded hay littered the ground around my feet.
I rubbed two of my fingers between Eve’s eyes
, thinking, trying to relax.
Scanning my surroundings for grooms or other people, thankfully, I found none. I needed to talk to someone, freely, without reservation. My gaze found Eve’s dark eyes. That someone might as well be a horse. I scanned the stable one last time for anyone that may have a propensity for eavesdropping, then began talking.
I felt like a dolt pouring out my concerns and questions and fears to a horse. But it felt comfortable and relieving; I didn’t have to worry about being judged. I told her about my aunt, and her requirements of my brothers. I told her about Kellaway Manor, and how at home I felt with these people and how I would soon have to leave. I told her about Owen, and how in love he was with Miss Lyons. My voice and heart felt heavy when I said that part. I considered asking her why, but I knew she wouldn’t know the answer; not as clearly as I knew it now. The realization had been sneaking up on me, and now there was nothing left to hide it. Owen was much more than a friend. I feared I had fallen in love with him.
But oh, how dearly I had tried not to. I leaned my elbow on the gate of Eve’s stall and rubbed my forehead. Perhaps it wasn’t too late. Perhaps I could forget him. There was still time before Owen returned. I could still turn my heart in the right direction. But the most pressing issue, the false engagement, led me to ramble on to the horse for another five minutes. I asked her what I should do about it. She didn’t answer.
When I finished talking, the stable was thick with the silence that I had dispelled with my prattle. I felt a small sense of release, but not enough to be comfortable. The idea of a ride didn’t sound quite as appealing as it had earlier, so I gave Eve one last stroke between her eyes and decided on a brisk walk instead.
The sun had its usual effect on me, warming my body and mind and clearing my head. The breeze ruffled my hair and whipped gently on my gown. What was I going to do? I repeated that question to myself, hoping that after so much repetition I could find an answer. What was I going to do? I wished the wind could speak to me. Surely the wind had the answer but its whispers were too hushed to be heard above the roar in my mind. It was an absurd thought, but it frustrated me nonetheless.
Mischief and Manors Page 19