by Caroline Lee
She traced one fingertip along the curve of his cheek, marveling at how little blood covered him. He’d been wanted, and now God had taken him back. Right before Christmas. Maria’s family would never be the same, and Annie didn’t realize she was crying until she saw the tear splash against the dead baby’s perfect forehead.
With a sob, she finished wrapping him up, tucking the linen lovingly around his tiny still form, and willing herself to control her tears. Maria—this family—didn’t need her sympathy right now. But she couldn’t stop herself from saying a prayer as she laid the baby in the optimistically stationed bassinet.
She was still standing there, one hand on the burnished wood, not sure where Reggie needed her, when the door opened and the older woman entered, holding the nine-month-old baby Annie had comforted downstairs. Maria lifted her head, and Annie could swear there was a small smile on the exhausted mother’s wan lips. She lifted one arm towards the woman and baby—now Annie could see the resemblance between them, and guessed this was Maria’s mother—and reached for the little one.
The midwife crossed to the bed, and with a sad smile, arranged the older baby against Maria’s breast. Annie felt like an interloper, watching the three women watching a baby nurse. But when Maria’s lips curled again, and she rested her head back against the pillows, Annie wondered if this wasn’t exactly what the grieving woman had needed. The reminder that life would continue.
If she hadn’t been watching Maria’s expression so intently, Annie would’ve missed the glisten of tears as they seeped from under closed lids and crawled down her cheeks. Annie glanced down at the tiny still body in the bassinet. No matter how much Maria’s family needed her, no matter how well they helped each other adjust and move on, this wouldn’t be a Merry Christmas for any of them.
It was impossible not to compare Maria to Wendy, and as Annie stood there beside the small still body, she prayed that this time, Wendy’s pregnancy would result in happiness.
CHAPTER SIX
She sobbed against his chest the entire ride home. Reggie, who’d pretended not to notice her tears when she held the dead infant, just wrapped his arm around her shoulders and held her close. He’d seen women weep before—he was a doctor, after all—but they never just cried; his sister and mother and every lady he’d ever had the misfortune to watch cry all interspersed their sobs with whimpers and wails and pleas.
But Annie cried silently. If he hadn’t been holding her, feeling her shuddering breaths and the dampness of his shirt where her cheek pressed against his chest, he might not have realized she was crying at all. And, God help him, but he was pleased she was weeping. He was pleased that she’d been there with him, to experience the pain that always came with a loss. It made him a lout, to wish that on her… but he was glad that he hadn’t had to bear it alone.
She’d been there. For him. With him. Just like she was now.
This wasn’t how he’d imagined the evening going. This afternoon, he would’ve been happy just knowing if she’d forgiven him. He still didn’t know, but he’d sat beside her, held her hand, felt her warmth, and experienced some Christmas joy with her. But he hadn’t planned on an emergency call, nor having her with him. And he certainly hadn’t counted on her help or her empathy or holding her while she wept.
As soon as he’d gotten the note from the clinic, he’d known that he had to go. Mr. Gudowicz trusted him, which is why his wife always came to him with her pregnancies. But this one was too soon after the last, and hadn’t been strong. Even lying in bed as she’d been for the last month, Maria Gudowicz had bled, and the midwife said that she hadn’t felt the babe move in days. He was probably dead long before Maria had birthed him. Oh yes, Reggie had known how tonight would end for the Gudowicz family, as soon as he’d gotten the note, but not Annie’s role in it.
It felt right to have her beside him like this.
When they arrived at his parents’ home—after all these years he still didn’t consider it his—he handed her cloak off to Mrs. Smalls and tried to ignore the disapproving glare the housekeeper sent his way. He watched the two of them climb the stairs, the plump matron half-supporting Annie’s frail form, and wondered what Mrs. Smalls thought of her tears. Wondered if she saw Annie’s hidden strengths, or just focused on her deafness.
With a sigh, Reggie pulled his own overcoat off and chucked it over the banister. He’d left the soiled aprons with the midwife, and he’d scrubbed his hands down, but he still felt unclean. He needed a drink.
So instead of heading upstairs after her to his lonely bedroom, he turned towards his father’s study. Unfortunately, it was occupied. “Father,” Reggie acknowledged ruefully on his way to the tray with the brandy glasses the older man had laid out. “I didn’t expect you still up.”
He couldn’t mistake the glare his father sent him. “Your mother’s still awake too, but I convinced her to wait upstairs. Didn’t want her here to see you get in.”
That surprised Reggie. His parents were ashamed of him? Turning, the un-sampled glass of amber liquid in his hand, he raised a brow. “Am I being called on the carpet, then? Like the rakes of old?”
“It was one thing to leave the Tillworths’ so suddenly, Reginald. None of them—none of us—understand your obsession with that damn clinic, but at least it’s a reason.” He took a deep breath, and Reggie remembered how he’d always been impressed by his father’s strength. “But to take her?”
“She volunteered to come.” It was a poor excuse, and Reggie clamped his lips closed. He didn’t want to make excuses.
“You’ve ruined her, boy.” That simple statement, combined with the insulting term, cut Reggie to the quick. He sank into one of the thick leather chairs across from his father.
Of course he’d ruined her. He knew what those people were like. He knew how petty and superficial they could be, even if they were his family and childhood friends. He knew how tenuous Annie’s position among them actually was; knew that they already saw her as some kind of freak. Taking her away from an intimate party, out into the night, alone in his carriage…? Yeah, he’d ruined her, all right.
And the worst part was that he hadn’t even considered the consequences. He was an intelligent man, a learned man, and he never once thought of what would happen if he took her with him. All he thought of was that she could be useful at the birth, and that she offered to go… and that he didn’t want to go alone.
Thank God his parents didn’t know he’d taken her to assist in a birth. A young society miss had no place seeing an exhausted woman labor to bring a dead baby into the world. Reggie’s fingers tightened around the glass. But Annie wasn’t like the rest of the young women here. She was different. Better.
Father must’ve been watching his expression, because Reggie heard the older man sigh. “Your mother offered to sponsor her, Reginald. She pitied the girl—” Reggie’s gut clenched at the thought of anyone feeling sorry for her, “—and wanted to help. So she wrote to Sebastian and Serena and suggested they send the girl out here for the Holiday Season.”
He knew all of this. What was Father trying to tell him? Sebastian Carderock II sighed again. “My point is that we’re responsible for the girl—”
“Her name is Annie.”
His interruption surprised his father. The older man blinked once, and then shifted in his chair, bringing his fingertips together under his chin. “Yes, of course. Annie. We’re responsible for Annie. Her family sent her out here into our keeping—” Like she was some kind of object, owned by her family? “—and trusted us to keep her safe. And we didn’t.”
“She was perfectly safe.” Reggie hated that he sounded like a petulant schoolboy, defending his actions.
“Her reputation is not.”
His father’s point was inescapable. Reggie took a big gulp of the brandy, appreciating the burn as it seared its way to his stomach. Then, finally: “I know.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“What can I do?” He kne
w what he could do. He just wanted to hear his father say it. Say that he approved.
“You’ll have to write to Sebastian, and explain how this mess this is your fault, and make arrangements for her return.”
That hadn’t been what he’d expected to hear. What he’d hoped to hear. Reggie met his father’s eyes, and knew that his solution wasn’t even a consideration, as far as his family was concerned.
“I could always marry her.”
Father’s sharp bark of laughter was jarring, but no less than he’d expected. The older man rubbed a hand over his face. “Don’t joke about that, Reggie. Your mother would faint.”
“Why?” He knew why. He wanted to hear it said.
“Because she’s not…” Father took a deep breath, as if searching for the words. “She’ll never fit in here, Reggie.”
“Neither do I.”
“She’s deaf, son.”
Reggie took another swallow, and then shrugged. “True. And I can’t heal her. She’ll always be deaf. Always be not good enough for them.” For us, he added silently, because he didn’t want to insult his own family.
“I’m glad that you see that.” His father stood up to leave, and Reggie was astonished to realize that was the man’s final say on the matter. He honestly thought that Annie wasn’t good enough for his society, and that Reggie should just apologize to her family.
Before he could come up with what he needed to say to properly express his incredulity, his father was gone. And Reggie was left holding a half-glass of fine brandy and his guilt.
Had he ruined Annie’s chances here in New York? His family had agreed to sponsor her and introduce her to society, but to what end? Had they intended that she make a match, find a husband? That had to be the end goal, but apparently his parents hadn’t intended her to make a match among their friends. Their family. Because she just wasn’t good enough.
But tonight, Reggie had seen that she was better than they guessed. She might not be able to hear their snide insults and petty gossip, but she was strong and compassionate and capable. She possessed assets the pampered ladies of New York City could only dream of. He admired her, and he admired her assets.
He knew what it was like to be looked down upon; when he’d finally quit his carousing and settled down to focus on his studies as a way to make the world a better place, his family and friends had disapproved of his choices. They’d said that he was turning his back on Carderock Imports, and that he was abandoning family obligations. His old friends had taunted him, calling him a killjoy who forgot how to have fun. But he hadn’t forgotten; he’d just discovered something that he thought was more important. And because of that choice, his society called him a class traitor.
Annie didn’t think that way, though; he’d seen it in the way she offered to help him, the way she’d supported him tonight.
He would be lucky to find a woman like her, who understood his passions and his goals.
He would be lucky to have her.
Taking another swallow of the brandy, Reggie admitted the truth. She might not be good enough for his society, but neither was he. And she was better than he deserved.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The parlor was deserted, as Annie knew it would be. She pushed the door closed behind her, breathing a sigh of relief that she’d made it downstairs and across the foyer without being seen. Mrs. Carderock had sent a note to her room that morning with the breakfast tray and made it clear that she expected Annie to venture out of her hiding today. The Carderock’s grand ball was tomorrow, and the household was abuzz with preparations. Annie had hoped that her absence of the last few days would go unnoticed, but such was not the case.
So she’d slipped out, carrying one of the books her sister had written, and snuck down to this small back parlor. She wasn’t hiding anymore, but she was still able to avoid the family. And after the embarrassment of coming home so late on Wednesday, and seeing the disapproving looks from Mrs. Smalls and both upstairs maids, Annie needed that solitude. It had been the most relaxing days she’d had since she’d arrived in New York, without any trips or social events planned… but the inactivity had begun to wear at her.
If she could manage to face her hosts again, even with them knowing that she was out late at night alone with their son, perhaps she could offer to help with the ball preparations. Annie looked around the parlor. This room looked perfect as it was; nothing she could help with here. There were garlands and swags of fresh-smelling pine boughs hung around the mantel and the door jambs, and holly arrangements on every table. The only thing left to decorate was the modest-sized tree, tucked into the corner between two of Mrs. Carderock’s wingback chairs. From the years she’d lived with Sebastian Carderock and his wife Serena, Annie knew that it was family tradition to wait until Christmas Eve to decorate this last, family tree.
It was a nice tradition, but in Serena’s home that tree was the main one, and everyone—family and friends—gathered to decorate it at a wonderful party and luncheon. Here, the tree was tucked into the corner of a small parlor, as if ashamed by the tradition.
Annie sank down onto a settee, rubbing the bridge of her nose and plopping the book down beside her, forgotten. Why was she so determined to compare everything here to her home? And why, despite the wealth and glamor and incredible luxury she’d seen since she arrived, did the Carderocks’ life in New York pale in comparison to hers in Cheyenne? Was she really that ungrateful for everything they’d done for her? Or was it just that it had taken a trip across the country for Annie to realize what was important in her life?
What was important? It certainly wasn’t her speech. She’d worked so darn hard over the last nine years, learning how to speak, how to understand others’ speech. She remembered the hours spent with her hands on Sebastian’s mouth, his throat, feeling the vibrations from his voice and learning to understand the movements his tongue and lips made. She’d been half in love with him then, the love of a little girl for a mentor who could give her the world.
And he had given her the world; he taught her how to communicate with the rest of it. But in doing so, she had to give up her signs, her ‘language’ that her sisters had created for her as a girl, the way she’d grown up communicating. Sebastian taught her that it wasn’t fitting to be seen “flapping her hands about;” that was fine for a child, but now that she was grown she’d have to learn to speak like a normal person.
It had been hard, and devastating at times to leave behind that part of herself, but she’d done it. She’d learned to speak, even though she couldn’t hear herself, and had no way of knowing what she was pronouncing correctly—until Sebastian corrected her, of course. She was able to participate in conversations at Church and at Serena’s parties, just like any other young woman. It had been liberating. And terrifying.
But then to arrive here, and realize that she might be accepted—acceptable—in Cheyenne, but that she would never be anything but an oddity to these people… it had been a difficult realization. She’d given up herself, and still wasn’t good enough for them.
And where did Reggie stand in this? He was a doctor, a man of science like his brother. Surely he agreed with Sebastian, that she was better off learning how to speak, giving up her “primitive” hand-sign. But on Wednesday he’d held her hand, there among his society. And trusted her to help him at Maria’s bedside. And held her close when she’d mourned.
And why did it matter to her where he stood, his opinion?
She must’ve been staring at the tree harder than she’d thought, because she never saw him, not until he sat gingerly on the chair across from her. She eyed him carefully, wondering why he’d come, and why he looked like he was considering leaving again. She hadn’t seen him in almost three days, but she’d thought of him often. Was still thinking of him.
When he met her eyes, she saw wariness there, and none of the suave confidence his brother always wrapped himself in. Reggie looked… so much more vulnerable. She wanted to comfort him, and tho
ught that was an odd reaction. Why would he need comforting? Just because he wasn’t the perfectly pristine prince his brother was, and his society expected? Because he was more approachable, more likable than all of them?
He took a deep breath, and opened his mouth a little like he was going to speak to her, but then seemed to change his mind. She wasn’t sure if she was disappointed or relieved. He was the only one here in New York who spoke slowly and clearly enough for her to easily understand… but she wasn’t feeling very charitable towards the speaking world at that moment.
Almost as if he could sense the direction of her thoughts, Reggie’s dark brows dipped in, and she thought he looked even more handsome than he had a moment before. Then, as if he’d reached a decision, he pushed back his coat and pulled out his little notebook. His dark head bent industriously over his thigh, he scribbled for a minute, and then stood up.
Perhaps she’d been confused by that point, but she certainly hadn’t expected him to cross towards her, and slip down into the spot beside her on the settee. She might’ve pulled her skirts out of the way and scooted over, but when he put the notebook on the low table in front of her, she was distracted.
I’m sorry, Annie. I should’ve thought about the consequences before I took you to the Gudowicz house.
She almost smiled. How like him to get right to the point; he didn’t inquire after her health, or how she’d been the last days. He’d seen that she was bothered by his actions, and jumped right into the conversation. She liked that about him. That and the fact that he’d written to her, rather than expecting her to read his lips.