An Inconvenient Wife

by Constance Hussey

  She greeted Martin with an equanimity she certainly did not feel. All she wanted was to retire to her room, preferably alone, where she could indulge in a childish display of temper and a refreshing bath in Westcott’s enormous bathtub. And it would serve him right if you managed to be in it when he came up. Or you might ‘accidentally’ walk in on him, offer to wash his back.

  Quickly dismissing the picture of Nicholas naked, and ignoring the flutters in her stomach, Anne handed the butler her gloves and hat. “Where is Lord Westcott, Martin?” She picked up the mail from the silver tray on the refectory table, sorting through it as she waited for an answer.

  The butler hesitated so long that Anne looked up, curious. She had supposed Westcott to be with Sarah or in his study. “What is it? Is something amiss?”

  “Lord Westcott is in the stables, my lady. There was a little accident.”

  “An accident? What sort of accident? Is someone hurt?”

  “Another shooting, Madam. His lordship is unharmed but the bullet grazed Maximus.”

  “Dear heavens!” Anne dropped the mail and stepped forward. Martin would not say Nicholas was uninjured if it was otherwise, but she had to see for herself. “I am going to the stables, Martin.”

  “No need, Madam. Maximus took no lasting harm and as you can see, I am unharmed,” Westcott said, walking toward them

  Anne hurried to meet him. His clothing was streaked with dust and a number of small tears, but the dried blood on his face drew all her attention.

  “You are hurt.” Gently, she touched her fingers to his cheek.

  “A scratch.” He caught her hand and brought it back to her side.

  His face, voice, indeed his entire manner was such she took an involuntary step back. No sign of Nicholas under that icy exterior, only Westcott at his worst. If he had struck her, the pain would be less than this rejection. You should be accustomed to rejection by now, Anne. But she was not; it came as a shock each time, and she called on every bit of fortitude to force words through wooden lips. “Will you tell me what happened?”

  He dismissed the servants with a look that sent them hurrying away. “There is little to tell. Someone took a shot at me, hit Max instead and rightly annoyed, he tossed me into a thorn bush.”

  Westcott pulled his gloves from his pocket and threw them on the table. “I take it you have recently returned?”

  “Yes, minutes ago. I have not yet been up to the schoolroom. Does Sarah know of this?”

  “No, and I do not intend to tell her.”

  “The servants?”

  “Have been instructed to keep quiet.”

  Anne had serious doubts about his ability to stop gossip, but if he chose to think otherwise, she was not going to say differently. “Very well. I trust Max is not seriously hurt?”

  “Fortunately he is not.

  “Good.” She was glad, being quite fond of the stallion. The single word was all she could choke out, and she moved in the direction of the wide stairs.

  He watched her, the nerves along her back jittering under his stare, and she resisted the urge to turn around.

  “I will be dining out tonight. Tell Sarah I will visit her in the morning.”

  She halted in mid-step, no more than a second, and prayed he hadn’t noticed. “Very well.”

  Back stiff, she hurried up the remaining steps. She expected he planned to change his clothes first, but if he thought to use the bathing chamber, he was sadly mistaken. She intended to keep it all to herself!

  ~* * *~

  In the end, Anne chose not to eat alone and ordered a light meal be brought to the schoolroom when the children had their dinner. Selecting one of her older gowns and comfortable slippers, she changed, threw a shawl around her shoulders and went to join them.

  Sarah stood at the window when she entered—another shock to add to this dreadful day. The child was leaning on the crutches Bill had made for her, but standing she was.

  “Good gracious, look at you! What made you decide today was the day?” Anne hid her dismay at not being included on this first try. She felt it premature, but perhaps she was getting as overprotective as Westcott. Above all, she wanted Sarah to succeed, and the child had been working hard.

  Sarah raised her chin, looking as self-assured as a queen, and Anne smiled. The child was very like her father at times. “It was to be a surprise…and I wanted to be certain I could do it. Danielle helped me with the special boot Mr. Fenton had made and really, it went very well,” Sarah said earnestly, both surprise and pride in her voice.

  “Might I see?” Anne kept her tone light, with none of the trepidation she felt audible. You will not wish the child to fail, even if imaging Westcott’s reaction has your stomach in knots.

  The leather boot swallowed Sarah’s foot, so thickly was it lined with sheep’s wool. The sole was several inches high and flat, and Anne judged it not the most comfortable of things, but it appeared to provide enough protection for Sarah to use it for balance.

  The child was surprisingly adept at maneuvering with the crutches, which were also padded at the top, and the handgrips were leather-clad. Too adept, Anne realized, her eyes narrowing as she watched. “Just how long have you been practicing, young lady?”

  Danielle and Sarah exchanged a look that shouted “guilty as charged”, and Anne put her fists on her hips. “It must be several days for you to be so proficient. I should give you both a scold for taking so big a chance. If Sarah had fallen….”

  “We were very careful, Mother Anne. Truly,” Danielle said quickly, looking so alarmed Anne could no longer restrain her grin.

  “You did beautifully, Sarah. I am so proud of you, both of you, for I know how much help Danielle has been.” She gave each of the girls a warm hug. “Now, enough for today. Get in your chair, child. It is time for bed.”

  Sarah more or less fell into the chair and handed the crutches to Danielle. “I am not very good at getting up and down yet,” she said as Anne pushed her to her bedchamber. “And my leg gets tired if I stand on it too long, but I will get stronger.”

  “Certainly you will. Who else knows of this? Surely you haven’t been able to keep this secret from Miss Caxton, or Mrs. Timmons.”

  “They both know. Miss Caxton has helped a lot. Nurse is not happy, ‘cause she worries I will fall. She said, ‘Do what you want, Miss Sarah, but I want no part of it.’”

  Sarah mimicked the older woman perfectly and Anne had to laugh. “That is not very nice,” she chided, but without any heat, and the girls broke into giggles.

  “I want to go to the stables tomorrow and sit on Guy’s pony. He said I could and Mr. Fenton said he would help me,” Sarah said sleepily, when Anne returned from bidding Guy and Danielle good night.

  “I am not sure that is wise. Rain is expected and you need more practice.”

  “The day after then. I can practice more tomorrow.”

  “We’ll see. Goodnight, Sarah.” Anne leaned over and placed a kiss on her forehead. Sarah might feel ready for such a big step, but Anne did not. Especially since it meant she could no longer put off telling Nicholas about his daughter’s progress. Then again, how could things get worse between them?

  Anne returned to her room, changed into her half boots and sent word to the Fentons she wanted to see them. It was not full dark. She expected they were still up.

  They were, and requesting a footman’s escort from a disapproving Martin, Anne walked over to the Fenton’s cottage. Light gleamed through the windows, and a thin trail of smoke rose from the stone chimney. Anne stood at the gate for a few minutes and sniffed. Some early spring flower must be blooming in Maggie’s garden, scenting the night air. They had made a home here, and the couple seemed more content than Anne had ever seen them. Perhaps it was best not to bother them, but too late now to change her mind. They were expecting her, and indeed, the door opened and Bill looked out.

  “Mistress Anne?”

  “I’m coming.” She bade the footman to wait and hurried
along the path. “I was enjoying the good smells in your garden,” she said as she stepped inside. “It smells wonderful in here as well. You must have been baking, Maggie.”

  Maggie put her spindle away and stood. “Pie, and there is some left. Sit. The kettle is still hot. I’ll make some tea.”

  Anne sat. A waste of time to argue with Maggie. Besides, she was hungry. “Thank you.”

  Maggie spooned tea into a pot and filled it with steaming water while Bill took a cloth-covered pie from a shelf and placed it on the table. “Rhubarb.” He collected several plates and forks, cut a slice for Anne and a more generous helping for himself. “Mrs. Fenton?”

  “I will.” Maggie set out cups and spoons, and joined them at the table. “It’s a mite tart, so you may want to sprinkle on some sugar,” she said as she poured the tea.

  Her mouth full, Anne held up a hand. “No, I like it this way,” she said after she swallowed. “There may be some strawberries ready next week, I’m told. Maybe you might make another pie? And invite me in to taste it?” Anne suggested hopefully.

  “Might well do that, if you bring those children along.”

  Anne smiled at the casual reply, but thought Maggie looked pleased. “Of course. They like coming here, even without the added inducement of pie.” Finished eating, she sipped at the strong tea while her companions ate. Too few visits here lately, and she was reminded how much comfort she received from the warm, welcoming setting and the company of these dearly loved friends.

  Maggie pushed her plate aside and looked sternly Anne. “You aren’t here at this hour for dessert, child.”

  “No.” Anne narrowed her eyes. “I want to know what happened today. Maximus was grazed by a bullet, but not badly injured. That is all I heard.”

  “Not much more to tell,” Bill said. “Lord Westcott set out, alone, mind you, right after he returned from Lynton Hall. I thought it foolish, which it turned out to be. Someone took a shot at his lordship again. Max was grazed and dumped Lord Westcott. Being somewhat uneasy when he didn’t return, I rode out and found him walking home.”

  “I see.” Anne carefully set aside her cup. “This cannot possibly be accidental. Someone wants Westcott dead. Since he has no enemies, the one person with a motive is the Major.” She looked at each of her companions, leaned back and held up her hands, palms out. “No, please, don’t pretend you think otherwise. We’ve all suspected it from the start. The question is what can be done about it?” Her voice fell and she stared at her empty plate as if it held an answer. “If I leave, he will be safe.”

  “Nonsense. If it is the Major, he’d prefer you a widow,” Maggie said sharply. “Best find the cur and let his lordship deal with the man.” She pointed her chin towards her husband. “Tell Anne what you heard today.”

  “Rumour, that’s all. Better not to put any stock in it until we find out more,” Bill said.

  Anne’s head came up. “Tell me.”

  “One of the tenants stopped in, mentioned he’d seen lights in the old Grayson place.” Bill’s shoulder twitched in a half-shrug. “Didn’t mean anything to me, since I don’t know the area well, but Banks told me that except for a caretaker, no one has lived there for years. And the caretaker has rooms in the back.”

  “Where lights would not be visible. Have you told Westcott of this?”

  “Not yet. Planned on telling him tomorrow.”

  “It’s worth looking into, I suppose.” Anne stood. She huffed and wrinkled her forehead. “Bill, Sarah is set on getting on Guy’s pony. She is using the crutches.”

  Maggie’s face creased with one of her rare smiles. “Good for her.”

  Anne nodded, but her concern overshadowed her delight in the child’s accomplishment. “I am proud of her. She has worked so hard, but Westcott has no idea of her efforts, and I am afraid he is not going to approve.”

  “He’ll come around when he sees how well she does,” Maggie said.

  “I hope so.” Anne summoned a smile, although she felt certain Westcott was not one to ‘come around’. You realize he will blame you for allowing it. Allowing it! He will know it was all your doing.

  Maggie rose and touched Anne on the shoulder. “It will all work out, child. He’s a good man and he has a regard for you.”

  She was not at all sure of it, but made no denial, merely kissing Maggie on the cheek before picking up her cloak. “Good night. Thank you for the tea and pie.”

  Anne closed the door behind her and walked slowly to the gate, halting to look around for Banks. He must have the lantern lit now that it was fully dark.

  “I will escort you home, Anne. I sent Banks back to the house.” Westcott moved from the shadows and opened the shutters on the lantern in his hand. “I have been watching the stars,” he explained at her questioning look. He placed his hand under her elbow and started walking.

  Shocked at his unexpected appearance, Anne uttered the first thing to enter her mind. “It is a clear night.” Why was he here? Even through her cloak she could feel the heat of his fingers, feel it spread an unwelcome warmth through her. She did not want to respond to his touch this way, when he seemed to do very well without hers.

  “You are out late.”

  The quiet comment did not sound accusatory, but Anne tensed nevertheless. “I needed to see Maggie,” she said, and winced inwardly at her defensive tone. What matter if she wanted to visit Maggie at midnight. Not that she wanted to, but if she did….

  The strained silence grew unbearable. “I did not expect to see you this evening,” Anne said finally, instantly regretting her choice of words. Now he would think she was complaining, when she didn’t care one way or the other if he chose to dine from home. Oh, such a lie, Anne. Your problem is you care too much.

  “My plans changed.”

  Unable to think of a reply, Anne trudged along mutely. Why should she carry the burden of conversation? Let him say something if he wanted to talk. But it appeared he was no more inclined to do so than she, and he did not speak again until they were at the house.

  “If you will spare me a few minutes before you retire?”

  Anne glanced sideways at him, trying to determine his mood. He did not look like he would take it well if she refused, which was her preference. Her mood was such that she would dissolve into tears or have a temper tantrum at the slightest provocation, and believed she felt closer to anger than tears. Nevertheless, she nodded her agreement and followed him into his study.

  She perched on the edge of a chair, refused his offer of sherry, and waited for him to tell her something she did not want to hear. The knot of hair at her nape was in danger of unraveling and she idly began pulling out the pins. Once loose, she ran her fingers through the strands and rubbed the back of her head.

  His gaze sharpened, and Anne gave a mental shrug. If he thought she was being provocative, so be it. Let him see what he was missing. Besides, this meeting was his idea, not hers.

  He did not sit, instead leaning against the back of the chair opposite, a glass of brandy clenched in his hand. His face was taut with tension and weariness. The deep scratch on his cheek was a vivid slash in the candlelight. Would it leave a scar? Perhaps Maggie had a salve that might help.

  “Anne.”

  He sounded so impatient, Anne thought, annoyed, then realizing he had said her name several times, she flushed.

  “I am rather tired this evening,” she said in a cool voice and trusted her expression was equally cool.

  “Yes.”

  How one word could convey so much was beyond her, and vastly irritating, the innuendo that straying from her bed was the cause of her fatigue. Her lips tightened and she looked at him with undisguised impatience. Please, just get it said.

  Her face apparently reflected the unspoken thought, for he finished off his brandy and, staring hard at the empty glass, said exactly what she was expecting.

  “About last night, and our other…encounter. This was not part of our agreement, and I apologize for my lack of sel
f-restraint. I will not allow it to happen again.”

  Anne stared at the grim-faced man in front of her and felt anger bubbling inside, felt it blot up the seething mixture of hurt, humiliation, and indignation at being subject to this rejection. Her legs trembling, she stood, looked him squarely in the eye, and with a voice that surprised her, so even as it was, said, “You will not allow another encounter, as you label our intimacy? This is a two-way street, my lord. I chose to participate in the first and initiate the second, with no regrets. Our lovemaking was mutually enjoyable, however much you pretend otherwise.” One hand flew up in anger; the other formed a tight fist at her side. “You need not worry about controlling your manly urges, sir. I won’t trouble you in the future.” Scathing that last, and she saw a nerve jump on his rigid jaw. Good. She was not the only one affected by this insane confrontation.

  Heartsick, Anne draped her shawl on one shoulder. “Good night, Lord Westcott.”

  She had her hand on the latch when he spoke, his voice rough with some emotion she could not decipher, though anguish came to mind.

  “Camille was with child when she died. It was not mine.”

  Anne turned, slowly. The bleak look in his eyes stripped away her anger, and shaken, she leaned against the door.

  “I am so sorry.” Anne hesitated for a moment, then went on, softly. “It must have been dreadful for you, coming on top of her death and Sarah’s injury. Will you tell me of it?”

  Westcott refilled his glass, with hands less than steady, she noted, half-expecting him to ignore her question. Nor would she fault him for it. But he surprised her.

  “I think I told you Camille often spent several months at a time in Town. On this occasion, it was well over three months, and Sarah sorely missed her mother. I’d written, of course, asking her to come home. When I received no answer, and even her letters to Sarah had stopped, I went to London to get her. She, however, was on her way here. I cannot imagine how I missed her on the road, but I did, and arrived at her parents’ house in London to find she was gone.”

  He still stood at the sideboard, staring at the glass turning in his hands and Anne made an involuntary movement toward him, thought better of it, and resumed her stance by the door. He will not accept any sympathy, Anne. Let him tell it in his own time.