“What you don’t know is that after Sarah was born, I welcomed Camille’s absences. Even though I’d long since realized how unsteady she was, I did not know the depth of the laudanum addiction or I would never have allowed her near Sarah. Camille was very skilled at hiding it, which does not excuse me from ignoring all the signs. Instead I pretended all was well and in doing so, failed her.”
“I have heard it is very difficult to recover from such an addiction.”
Westcott swung around to face her. “But not impossible. If I had insisted she seek help, if I had paid more attention to her, been a better husband….”
Anne straightened. “What? She would be alive and Sarah uninjured? You can’t know that, Nicholas,” she said softly. “Would you have made Camille a prisoner in her own home? Abandoned your tenants, your responsibilities at Westhorp, to a life in the city you abhor? We all do the best we can with what we have. You can beat yourself with a hundred ifs and it changes nothing.”
“I should have known,” he said, without heat but with such conviction Anne knew her words hadn’t reached him. She was not sure if anything she said would matter. You have to try, Anne. At least try.
“You were not the one holding the reins, Nicholas, nor were you the one driving dangerously fast. You feel your presence would have prevented the accident. Perhaps so, but what of the next time, or the times after?” Anne’s voice gentled. “No one can take responsibility for everyone else. Think about it.”
He made no attempt to answer, and Anne quietly left the room. Perhaps he would give her words some thought—but the scars were deep. Not beyond healing. You simply need to persist—and try not to get too badly stung in the process.
Chapter Thirty
“It has stopped raining.”
Sarah’s face was a picture of determination. Anne swallowed a sigh. “It has. However, I have not yet had a chance to tell your father about this.”
“You were not to tell him anyway. I wanted it to be a surprise!” Sarah’s expression turned sulky. Anne lifted her brows and stared at her until a sheepish “I’m sorry,” cheeped out from under the fall of hair hiding the girl’s bent head.
“Grownups don’t always appreciate surprises. You would do better to tell him yourself, or allow me to do so,” Anne said.
“No, please don’t! Let me try it first. Then I will tell him, I promise.”
Anne hesitated, reluctant to disturb Westcott any more than he already was. Last night’s disclosure had left her reeling, and she could scarcely imagine how he felt after living with Camille’s betrayal all these years.
“Very well, although I have my doubts about the wisdom of this. You may sit on the pony for a few minutes.”
Sarah threw her arms around Anne’s neck, hugged her tightly, and then turned to dangle her legs over the side of the bed. “Thank you. Guy can bring Polly into my garden like he has other days.” She watched as Anne laced the special boot, then wiggled her foot into the most comfortable angle and slid from the bed to stand on her good leg.
“I feel stronger every day,” Sarah said as she positioned her crutches, her forehead furrowed in concentration. Anne stood behind her, poised to offer a steadying hand, but Sarah handled the crutches easily.
“If you don’t want the entire household to know about your mobility, Sarah, use your chair. Banks and another of the footmen will carry you and the chair down, as they usually do, and I will send word to Mr. Fenton to bring Polly to the garden.”
Anne turned to Danielle, who was a patient, and silent, spectator to all this. “Will you please wrap the crutches in a blanket and bring them along to the garden?”
Anne wanted this over with as quickly as possible. She had few doubts of Sarah’s ability to sit safely on a horse for a short time. She did not, however, relish the idea of Westcott learning of it from a servant.
The sun emerged from the remaining clouds just as they entered the garden, which Sarah immediately declared “a good sign and so much nicer than a gloomy day.” Waiting just long enough to be sure the footmen had reentered the house, she stood and took the crutches from Danielle.
“Do take care, Sarah.” Danielle hovered around the younger girl, ready to help, but like Anne, found it unnecessary. The girls navigated along the path to the outside gate without any problem, and Danielle undid the latch to allow Bill and the pony to enter.
Sarah was radiant with happiness, and Anne stifled her qualms in the face of the child’s pleasure. Surely Westcott would not deny the child such joy. She was not at risk of anything but her pride if it proved too frightening for her.
“Now here’s the way of it, Miss Blackwell,” Bill explained to her. This saddle and the stirrup for your bad foot were special made just for you. We’ve talked about it before.”
“I know. Once I get used to riding, I can use my knees to help tell Polly what to do. I remember, Mr. Fenton,” Sarah said, bubbling with excitement. She scratched the pony’s forehead. “We will be fine, won’t we Polly?”
“Here we go then.” Bill grasped her waist, waited until Danielle had taken the crutches, and lifted Sarah onto the saddle.
Anne stood beside the pony’s head with a hand on the bridle, although Polly was a placid creature and disinclined to make any sudden moves. The rapt expression on the child’s face whilst Bill adjusted the stirrups to the right length, and locked the fitted side around Sarah’s boot, made all the long hours of exercise worth every minute.
“This should hold steady, Miss, so you won’t be jarring your foot, but the more you use your knees the better it will be. Now just be sitting there until you get the feel of him under you.” Fenton placed the reins in Sarah’s hands and showed her how to hold them correctly.
Sarah sat very straight and looked around, not a trace of fear on her face. “It is quite high, Danielle, but very nice. You must try it.”
“Someday I will,” Danielle said, looking every bit as proud as Sarah at this accomplishment.
Anne believed she had never seen Danielle look so happy. If nothing else, bringing these girls together was a good thing.
“May we walk a little, Mr. Fenton? Just a few steps?” Sarah coaxed, but she looked toward Anne.
“That’s up to her ladyship.” Fenton waited for an answer, plainly agreeable either way.
Anne looked at Sarah’s face, wide-eyed with hope, and relented. “A few steps, just enough so you can feel the movement, then down you come.” She led Polly forward a short distance. No more than a few strides, it was enough for Sarah to experience the rocking motion and she giggled with delight.
“Oh, this is so much fun, Mother Anne. Thank you.”
“It is your achievement, Sarah. We may have helped but it took your determination to be successful. Now, give me the reins and allow Mr. Fenton to.…”
“What the devil are you doing?”
“Oh, Papa! I wanted to surprise you!”
“You have certainly done so,” Westcott said, grim-faced, striding toward them. Dressed in buff breeches, a coat of darker brown, and a white shirt opened at the neck, he looked so comely it stole Anne’s breath away. He also looked furious.
Of the four of them, only Bill Fenton had the presence of mind to act normally, lifting Sarah from the pony and seating her in her chair. Anne felt rooted to the ground and Danielle looked like she wanted the earth to swallow her.
Anne braced for a tirade, but to his credit—and admirable restraint—Westcott stooped beside his daughter and said calmly, “You seem to be having an adventure, muffin.” He glanced at the crutches clutched in Danielle’s arms. “Several adventures, it seems.”
Sarah’s smile faded. “Are you angry? I wanted to do it so very much. Walk some and sit on a pony, I mean.”
“Now why would I be angry at such a fine thing? I do wish you had told me about it so I could have helped.” He touched her cheek lightly and stood. “I think it might be wise to rest after your exertions, don’t you? I will come up to see you shortly. Daniel
le, find Banks or one of the footmen to take Sarah upstairs.”
“Yes, sir,” Danielle gasped, and ran off, the crutches banging awkwardly against her legs.
“Fenton, take the pony back to the stables.” Pointedly ignoring Anne, Westcott turned the wheeled chair and started pushing a subdued Sarah towards the house.
He is saving the tongue-lashing for you, Anne. At least he had the presence of mind not to spoil it for the child. Anne was grateful for that and since she already felt guilty for keeping this from him, was willing to shoulder the blame.
She walked behind him, tempted though she was to turn and make her escape though the garden gate, but why put off the inevitable? Besides, she wanted to know why he had returned earlier than expected. Had Westcott and St. Clair found out anything that touched on the situation? Maybe it was the Major hiding out and they had caught him and sent him packing. Recognizing this for the fantasy it was, Anne brushed a kiss on Sarah’s cheek and stood back to allow Banks to pick her up.
“Tell Papa it is my fault,” Sarah whispered in her ear.
Anne smiled. “Go and have your rest, child. Your father and I will visit with you later.” She watched as Banks mounted the stairs with Sarah in his arms, so aware of the man standing beside she could feel his anger.
“Madam. My study, now.”
The order was imbued with such restrained anger that Anne’s heart quailed. Reluctantly, she followed him into the room she had grown to dislike intensely, as nothing pleasant seemed to occur in it.
Stone-faced, Westcott went to stand behind his desk and braced a hand on the surface. Anne considered the disadvantages of having him loom over her and chose a high-backed chair to lean against, as much to support her weak legs as to hide. Although hiding was an appealing idea. Take to your bed for a few days, until he was over his fit of temper.
“How dare you?”
His scathing voice scoured her skin and her grip on the chair tightened as his rage poured over her.
“You deliberately put my daughter in jeopardy. Every movement she makes on those crutches endangers her—not to mention getting on a pony! I suppose you expect her to ride as well. Perhaps careen around the countryside,” he sneered, distain in every line of his rigid body.
“You come here, change everything, turn the household on its end, have sing-a-longs and God knows what else and I allowed it, tolerated it for Sarah’s sake. I entrusted her to your care and in return I find you helped her to do this knowing I would object,” he shouted bitterly
Anne flinched, but still preferred the honest anger to the controlled fury. “She is in no more danger than any child in this world; less than many.”
Westcott straightened and took a step toward her, hands fisted at his side. “What if she falls? Breaks her foot again, or the other leg? She could be crippled for life.”
“She was already crippled for life, trapped in that chair, treated like an invalid,” Anne said passionately. “I wanted her to have a chance to move around, try her wings.” She searched his face for some glimmer of understanding, but saw no sign of it behind the grim mask and nearly her will faltered.
“I was wrong to keep it from you. You have every right to be angry. Blame me, rail at me, I don’t care, but don’t deny Sarah the right to take a chance.” Anne’s voice rose, anger at this intractable man she loved sweeping over her. “You might prefer to live behind the wall you’ve built to protect yourself, but Sarah doesn’t belong there!”
“She belongs where it’s safe!”
“Safe,” Anne echoed, her voice shaking. “Is that what you want from life, Nicholas? To spend the rest of your days alone, driving everyone away because you won’t risk your heart? You say I’ve changed things. Well I hope I have changed things and for the better. This was a sad house, and the people in it deserved better.”
Westcott recoiled as if she had struck him and Anne bit her lip, hard. She would not cry and she would not feel guilty for stating the truth. Cold inside, her fingers half-numb from her grip on the chair, she let her hands fall to her sides. “I am deeply sorry to have kept this from you,” she said, her voice so steady now she marveled at it. “I was wrong to do so and I hope someday you will forgive me. For encouraging Sarah I will not apologize.”
She turned and ran from the room, not halting until she stumbled into her bedchamber. Shaking, Anne locked both doors and collapsed into a chair. The threatened tears gone now, she folded her arms tightly across her middle and rocked back and forth. Their marriage was a fraud. Nicholas did not love her, would never love her. Whether she wanted to live with that knowledge, whether she could, she didn’t know.
Chapter Thirty-one
The port splattered the carpet, seeping into the fibers, the shards of glass winking like jewels in the blood-red pools of wine. Westcott stared at his hands, scarcely believing he had thrown the heavy cut-glass decanter against the wall. Bloody hell. What was wrong with him? He was always in control. Not even when the physician expressed his sympathy at losing both his wife and unborn child, a child he knew could not possibly be his, had he felt such all-encompassing fury engulf him.
He forced stiff limbs into mobility, went to the window, and thrust open the drapes. He had to go to Sarah, but not yet. Not until he felt able to contain the fear striking arrows into his heart. Seeing her on that horse….What? You know she was not in danger. Not then, at that moment. But you don’t want her taking risks, do you? You want her safe in her bower like some fairy tale princess. “Devil take it.” Of course he wanted her safe. He was her father; he knew what was best for her. It was Anne’s doing, all this reckless stumbling about on crutches, trying to ride. Giving Sarah independence.
Westcott cut off the thought with a muffled curse. He had no time for this, no stomach for dwelling on Anne’s perfidy, Sarah’s expanding world. Too much else demanded his attention. Fenton’s rumour had some basis to it. Two men were known to have camped out at the Grayson house, long since deserted after the family line died out.
Westcott crunched over the broken glass as he made his way to the door and stepped into the passageway, shouting for Martin.
“Sir?” Puffing, the butler hurried up, a worried expression on his face, and Westcott imagined the entire household knew of his argument with Anne. No doubt they all believed him at fault, he thought bitterly.
“Send for Bill Fenton and have someone clean up the mess in my study. I’ll see Fenton in the library.” He turned away, then halted and looked back over his shoulder. “Let Miss Sarah know I have been delayed and will see her in an hour.”
“Certainly, my lord.”
“And send up some ale and cold meats.”
Too unsettled to sit, Westcott prowled around the library. He was almost certain one of the two men was Anne’s Major. From the description, the other was likely Meraux. What did Meraux think to achieve? Even if he did succeed in finding Danielle there was not a clergyman in England who would marry them. He may not care about marriage at this point. An unwelcome supposition and the light tap on the door was a relief.
“Come in.”
Bill Fenton entered, hat in hand, his face set in an unreadable expression. “You wanted to see me, my lord?”
“Yes. St. Clair and I rode over to the Grayson place to check out the rumour you heard. According to the caretaker, who is half-blind and deaf, two men showed up weeks ago, claiming friendship with Grayson and an interest in purchasing the place. The old man lives in two rooms in one wing. He never goes into the main house and since the men tended to their own needs and horses, he did not care what they did. Apparently they came and went—sometimes for several days. Judging from the fresh horse droppings, they’ve been there recently. I know what Meraux looks like, Fenton, but I need a description of the Major.”
“A big fellow, taller than you, and solid. Blond hair, blue eyes and ruddy complexion.”
Westcott nodded. “That fits with the caretaker’s description. The other man has to be Meraux. How or why t
hose two got together?” He frowned and dismissed it. “It hardly matters right now.”
“Meraux knew where we lived and the Major could have found out easily enough. They probably met up at the villa,” Fenton suggested. “Why? Nothing good, I’ll warrant.” His lips tightened into a grim line. “What’s to be done, sir? You’ll know the soldier wants you dead, but more than anything he wants to get his hands on Lady Westcott.”
“It is up to us to see that he does not,” Westcott said tersely. “Stick close to your mistress, Fenton. Tell her no riding out or driving into the village.” If Fenton felt it unusual to have a servant give orders to his mistress, he gave no sign of it. Anne would be more apt to listen to her old friend in any case. “I’m going to Winchester in the morning to talk to the authorities. Find out what resources I can call upon.”
“You can count on me, my lord.”
“I know it. You and Mrs. Fenton have been caring for Lady Westcott for a long time.” Westcott clasped the older man’s shoulder for a moment. “I trust you will be doing so for many years to come.”
“No question as to that, sir,” Fenton said, and walked from the room.
Whether it would be at Westhorp or some unknown location was a question answered the second it occurred to him. However Anne felt about him, she would never leave the children.
A footman entered then with a large tray. Westcott cleared one end of a table strewn with books and stood back while the man set out a pitcher of ale, a plate of cold meats and cheese, along with a basket of freshly baked bread.
Reminded of his hunger by the tantalizing aroma of the bread, Westcott popped a piece of it in his mouth and with mumbled thanks, waved the man away. He poured a mug of ale, sat, and began to eat. He needed to have his wits about him, and a goodly store of patience at hand before seeing Sarah. Some food in his stomach would help.
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