An Inconvenient Wife

by Constance Hussey

  The resignation in Anne’s sigh caught his attention, and he tipped his head in question. He had heard that resigned sound a number of times these past weeks. “I had thought you used to it by now,” he said, amusement in his voice.

  She flushed. “I do try, and for the most part I have become accustomed to it. But to have Bill call me anything but Miss Anne still seems so strange to me.” She tapped a finger against her lips, and then smiled, nodding toward the stable. “Bill seems to have adapted to it easily enough. In fact, I think he enjoys calling me ‘my lady’.”

  “Perhaps he does. He is a remarkably accommodating man.”

  Westcott saw one of the grooms leading out the mare and turned, expectantly, he admitted to himself, to watch Anne’s face. He had put a goodly amount of thought into the selection of the proper horse for her, suspecting her experience was limited to gentle jaunts around the countryside. This mare was never intended for Danielle, no matter that he had told her otherwise.

  Her eyes widened at the sight of the graceful mare prancing toward them. At fourteen hands, Belle was on the small side, a glossy chestnut with a slender white blaze and white fetlocks. Bright-eyes viewed the world around her with interest and she lowered her head and looked curiously at Anne as she walked slowly forward. Crooning softly, Anne raised a hand, and waited until Belle halted, nuzzled her palm, and sniffed at her hair before she rubbed her fingers lightly through the mare’s mane.

  Pleased at her obvious approval, Westcott waited as Anne and the mare became acquainted, only clearing his throat when it appeared the two were prepared to stand indefinitely, in the increasingly chilly wind, communicating in some mutual pact of admiration.

  Recalled to her surroundings, Anne turned to him, her face bright with pleasure and her smile as warm as the sun in summer. “She is marvelous. I adore her already, and I believe she likes me. Thank you.”

  “It seems Belle more than likes you,” he said, as the horse nudged Anne for more attention. “Another day you can try her out. I have not ridden her, but she appears to have a smooth gait. Now we should be getting back to the house.” Anne nodded, still smiling, gave Belle a final pat and allowed the groom to lead her away.

  “The wind has turned cold, Anne.” Westcott moved closer to her, leaning forward to raise the hood of her cloak and tie the ribbons under her chin. Her lips curved even further in a pleased smile. She looked so damn happy. So damn kissable!

  Stung by the stab of longing, Westcott dropped his hands with a jerky movement, and her smile faded, the usual calm, almost placid, expression settling over her face.

  “Yes, it has gotten chilly.” She turned away and began walking, her eyes intent on the fastenings of her cloak as she closed it around her.

  Confound it, Westcott, what’s gotten into you? If you can’t so much as touch her without acting like an idiot, then don’t. You like seeing that stricken look in her eyes? Furious at himself, and her, however irrationally, Westcott accompanied Anne to the front entrance and with a brusque and untrue claim that there was something in need of his attention, left her.

  Stay away from her, Westcott. You have nothing to offer and every time you ignore that hard fact, you end up hurting her. Leave her alone. She doesn’t need you and you sure as hell don’t want to start needing her!

  Chapter Sixteen

  Anne stripped the gloves from her shaking hands, unfastened her cloak, and handed both to the waiting footman. A smile was beyond her and ignoring his quickly veiled curiosity, she curtly requested tea be sent to her room. She was not to be disturbed.

  Don’t you dare cry, Anne Blackwell. You are not such a ninny as to weep over a man, even if he is your husband.

  “Which he is not!” Anne shouted into her thankfully empty bedchamber and slammed the door behind her with a crash that rattled the bottles on her dressing table. She stomped across the room, pounded on a chair cushion, kicked at the draperies, and generally behaved like a thwarted child for the next five minutes. It felt wonderful. After weeks of pretending to be satisfied with the few crumbs of sociability Westcott chose to toss her way, her self-esteem, never over the top to begin with, had slithered into a dank pit. A disgracefully dank pit and one she was ashamed to have fallen into.

  Juliette is mistaken. Westcott has no hidden affection for you. He never will. They were fated to live as strangers in this mausoleum forever.

  Anne’s fit of temper drained away, leaving her exhausted and headachy. Wearily, she removed her half boots, tossed them aside, and stretched out on the chaise longue. She would have Clara inform everyone that Lady Westcott would not be down for dinner. Perhaps she would order a bath, then eat a light meal here, and not face his lordship over dinner, pretending she was content. When what you really want to do is shake some sense into the man!

  Anne curled up on the longue, closed her eyes, and tried again to determine why Westcott behaved as he did. It had been a shock to see him waiting for her at Maggie’s, but a pleasant one. She had been so pleased he wanted to personally show her that lovely horse, and they had gotten on so well—why shouldn’t she have felt it somewhat of an apology for his abrupt manner this morning? She never asked him to tie her hood, or expected it! Nor would she have, because any physical contact sent him haring away as if she was some kind of leper. She had reasoned that out weeks ago.

  Why he felt so was not entirely understood. He was not a cold man. One had but to watch him with Sarah to be certain of that. Reserved, perhaps, but she had observed him with St. Clair and Captain Carlisle and he laughed and joked with them. Maybe he disliked women in general? Which you do not for a moment believe. No, it’s you, Anne. Accept it, learn to live with it. There will be no happily-ever-after and none was promised. You were the deceiver here—of yourself.

  “No more. You will stop all this silly schoolgirl dreaming and behave like the mature woman you are.” Anne sat up, folded her legs, and wrapped her arms around her knees, smiling at the ridiculous comment. Talking to herself was hardly the sign of a sensible, mature woman.

  The knock on her door was a welcome interruption. Her maid with the tea, she imagined, unfolding her legs and turning sideways to put her feet on the floor.

  “Come in.”

  “Now, don’t you be getting up, my lady. Martin told me you were feeling poorly and there is no reason not to have your tea all comfortable like.” Clara carried in a tray and set it on a low table next to the chaise. “Here is Miss Danielle as well, to keep you company if you wish it, but you are to say right out if you prefer to be alone, which the young miss understands, and won’t be having hurt feelings over.”

  Anne looked at Danielle, hovering uncertainly in the doorway, and smiled. “Some company will be welcome, and no, Clara, I’ve no desire to get up. I plan to be quite the lay-about and take my tea right here.”

  Anne settled back comfortably, waiting until Danielle was seated and Clara had gone off before nodding at her guest. “Will you pour, please? I think you know how I like mine.”

  A quick startled look, then Danielle picked up the pot and poured. She added a little sugar to Anne’s tea and carefully handed her the cup. Hiding a smile at the look of grave concentration on the girl’s face, Anne accepted with equal solemnity. Miss Caxton had begun to show Danielle some of the etiquette a young lady was expected to know, but practicing in the schoolroom was not the same as serving an adult for the first time. Danielle’s own tea was the recipient of milk and several sugars, Anne noted with amusement, recalling the girl’s preference for coffee.

  “I am sorry you are not feeling well, Mother Anne,” Danielle said, a worried little frown wrinkling her forehead.

  Instantly feeling guilty that she had not sent word to the children that her indisposition was trifling, Anne hastened to reassure her. “A headache, no more. I may have stood about in the wind too long today. I stopped by the stables with Westcott to see the new horse he bought for us. She is a lovely thing, Danielle.”

  The girl looked so doubt
ful that Anne laughed. “I know you are not accustomed to being around horses, but Belle is truly a delight and I think you will like her. There is no hurry, but you should learn to ride,” Anne told her with a sympathetic smile.

  “Yes, I know, but they are so very large, oui?”

  “They are, but you tend to forget that when you are riding. No one will force you, my dear. Just tell Westcott or me when you are ready.” Anne finished her tea and set aside her cup. “Now, tell me what you did today. How are you and Sarah doing with your duet? Are you having any problems?”

  Danielle’s face brightened with the enthusiasm any mention of music brought and she leaned forward, her teacup rattling precariously in its saucer. “We are doing very well, I think, except for one passage we cannot seem to get exactly right. Will you sit with us tomorrow and help us? Monsieur Beethoven’s music is so beautiful. I love playing the flute. We both do and you are such a good teacher, Mother Anne.”

  “You are good students and a pleasure to teach. I would like to get you and Sarah started on the harpsichord, but the one here is badly out of tune, and beyond my limited skill to repair.”

  Danielle gasped, her eyes round with surprise. “Could Sarah, do you think? With her...?”

  “There is no reason Sarah cannot sit at a keyboard and use her hands,” Anne said. She felt Sarah capable of most things, if encouraged—and permitted. Anne strongly believed Westcott was overprotective, but had not felt comfortable enough yet to challenge him on it. Although you may as well, since apparently just your presence annoys him. “At some time in the future I will look into purchasing a piano.” She let out a wistful sigh. “I once had the opportunity to play one and it was marvelous.”

  Anne smiled at her visitor, who looked eager to prolong this discussion. Danielle could talk about music for hours. “We can speak of it tomorrow if you wish. Now I am going to send you off so I can bathe and go to bed.”

  Stricken, Danielle jumped to her feet. “Je regrette. I have kept you overlong.”

  “Not at all. I enjoyed your company.” Anne stood and took Danielle’s hands in hers. “You are happy here?” The girl had blossomed, it appeared to Anne, and although still overly serious in manner, she had lost the guarded look she had had in Portugal.

  Danielle hesitated, her forehead wrinkled in thought, and Anne was pleased she was not blurting out an answer just to satisfy her. And indeed, when the answer came, Anne could not doubt the sincerity.

  Danielle raised her head and looked Anne straight in the eye. “Not since my father died have I felt this way—to be part of a real family once again, living in this fine place, with all of you so good to us. I cannot tell you how grateful and happy I am.” She smiled shyly. “And the music is the grandest thing imaginable.”

  “I am glad.” Anne leaned forward and placed a kiss on Danielle’s forehead. “Go on now. Tell Sarah and Guy you are bringing them a kiss from me and I will see them in the morning.”

  “Bonne nuit, Mother Anne.”

  Danielle left as quietly as she had come, and Anne smiled to herself at the brief lapse into French. Both children were wont to slip when excited or emotional, and they had long since adopted Sarah’s name for Anne, with her heart-felt approval. “Mother Blackwell sounds so staid and stuffy,” she said to the empty room, her cheeks growing hot when Clara came in and looked askance at her.

  “Did you say something, Madam?”

  “No, it’s nothing, Clara. Just thinking out loud,” she said, and quickly added, “I’d like to bathe, if you will tell them downstairs, please. I am planning an early night.”

  “Of course.” Clara picked up the tray and looked at the untouched platter of cold meats and cheeses. “Shall I order something else for you? Some soup, or some of Cook’s nice stew?”

  “Nothing, thank you. I’m not terribly hungry tonight. Just the bath and perhaps a glass of wine to help me sleep.” Anne wandered to the window and pushed aside the heavy brocade draperies to peer out. The moon was at the half, but cast enough light to make the garden below a place of mysterious shadows. She stood daydreaming, trying to imagine it when full of flowers as Sarah had described it, until Clara announced that her bath was ready.

  Anne still was not sure exactly how it worked; just that it did. Somehow, hot water was pumped up from a boiler on the lower floor into the delightfully large tub. Westcott had it installed for Sarah, whose pain in those months after the accident was alleviated by the heated water. Westcott used it, of course, as did Anne and Sarah, but no one else.

  Clara sprinkled a few drops of rose oil into the water and Anne climbed in, leaned back with a moan of pleasure, and began leisurely soaping her legs. The room was small enough to be comfortably warm from the water, and she did not think she would ever tire of so relaxing a pastime. Did her husband loll around in it as she did? Anne found it difficult to picture Westcott lolling around under any circumstances but there was the door leading to his suite and the occasional evidence of a damp floor to indicate his usage. Never had he interrupted her, and she suspected his valet and her maid arranged it so. What might his reaction be if he were to see her thusly? Or she, him?

  Anne felt heat flood her face. There is nothing wrong in admiring a man’s appearance, and he is your husband, at least in name. Besides, Nicholas is a well-looking man, with a lean, strong body and you like to look at him. If he.... No, she would not dwell on that. It was time she accepted that he did not want her, which, she reminded herself, he had made clear from the start. Make the best of it, and be grateful for what you have. Perhaps if you say it often enough you will come to believe it.

  ~* * *~

  Westcott used that door to enter Anne’s bedchamber late that night and stocking-clad, moved silently across the room. He raised his shielded candle to illuminate the sleeping woman below. She chose to leave the draperies open slightly, he saw, uncaring that a thin shaft of moonlight lay over her face, and he smiled. His wife was evidently not a believer in the fanciful idea that sleeping in the light of the moon induces nightmares. She was much too sensible to indulge in such flights of imagination. Now, he was glad of it, and with enough light to see without the candle, he snuffed the flame.

  Even in sleep she wore her hair woven into a loose braid, the blond streaks appearing almost white in the moonlight. He had yet to see it unbound, and not for the first time, found himself picturing how it would look drifting over her breasts. She is not for you, Westcott. Heartache, for both of you, lay in that direction. He suspected she was already becoming, unwisely, fond of him. Conceit, indeed, but for her sweetly uncertain overtures. Which he met with as ham-fisted a manner as could be imagined, and he vowed to do better in the future. Surely he was capable of finding some balance in their relationship.

  Westcott straightened the blanket to cover her shoulders. What if he were to lie beside her? Would she be frightened, or welcome him to her bed? Not frightened, not his high-couraged Anne, and when did you start thinking of her as ‘your Anne’?

  Unwise, that, and troubled by the direction of his thoughts, he slipped away as quietly as he had come.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Have you spoken to your father about it, Sarah?” Anne surveyed the three eager faces in front of her and knew she was going to agree to their plans, even if she did have reservations.

  Sarah’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “It is to be a surprise. We want to send invitations to Aunt Juliette and Uncle Devlin, and Mr. Atkinson. We can send Papa’s the very day of the performance. Miss Caxton is going to help us.”

  Anne sank onto a cushioned stool and looked skeptically at the enthusiastic youngsters. “What exactly do you have in mind to do?”

  “A puppet show! We are going to have a puppet show!” All three of them spoke out at once. Anne laughed and held her hands over her ears. “Gracious, one at a time, please. You start, Danielle.”

  “Guy found some puppets in an old box, Mother Anne, and we asked Mr. Fenton to make a stage for us.”

/>   “It’s “Robinson Crusoe”,” Guy burst out. “Sarah has been reading the story to us, and we wrote our own play from it.”

  “Miss Caxton is sewing costumes,” Sarah said, “and Danielle and I are practicing some music to go with it.”

  Anne listened as they told her, in detail, of their plans. She was so pleased at the way they all seemed to like each other. Guy, she believed, would be happy almost anywhere he felt secure, and although he had his dog and pony for playmates, he never quibbled at entering into games with the girls. Danielle had a different temperament, and would never possess the bubbly personality Sarah did, but she smiled more often now, and she and Sarah were as thick as two thieves.

  “It sounds an excellent enterprise, and I will gladly help if you need it.” Anne widened her eyes and curled her lips in a wry smile. “Of course, you will not allow your studies to be neglected whilst you prepare this entertainment.”

  A chorus of “Oh, nos” ensued and she laughed, exchanging a glance with Miss Caxton, who appeared to be awaiting her decision with almost as much interest in the outcome as the children.

  “I am sure they will not, my lady,” the governess said in her quiet, assured manner, and Anne laughed.

  “If you can keep these rapscallions in line, it will be a miracle.” But her broad smile encompassed them all, and they grinned at her teasing. Anne stood and looked pointedly at Guy. “You, young sir, are due for a riding lesson about now, I believe, so off with you.”

  Guy started and gasped. “It is that I am late already! I must go, moi. Good-bye.” Guy scampered out, his comical look of consternation sending Sarah and Danielle into a storm of giggles.

  Anne touched a finger to her lips at the boy’s headlong departure, but her amusement was so apparent, no one gave credence to her moue of disapproval. “That boy,” she said, lowering her hand to brush over Sarah’s hair. “I think he’d live in the stable if he could.”