An Inconvenient Wife

by Constance Hussey

  ~* * *~

  Sarah was alone in her bedchamber, sitting on the window seat, intent on a book. The crutches were propped against the wall beside her. So, a challenge, it seemed. An unconscious one perhaps, but it meant he was not going to be able to put off this discussion until tomorrow, as he had preferred to do.

  “Hello, muffin.”

  Saving her place with a bookmark, she looked up. “Papa.”

  “Where is everyone? Usually someone is around to keep you company.” He walked over and sat beside her.

  “Miss Caxton has gone to see about our dinner. Danielle and Guy went to look at some kittens Guy found in the stable, and Nurse is having a rest. I wanted to see you alone,” she said, her expression touchingly grave.

  “I see. This will be about the riding.” He tipped his chin to indicate the crutches. “And those, I suppose.”

  Her eyes widened and she looked puzzled. “Yes, of course. We need to talk about this, Papa. I know you are upset and angry, and I don’t know how to fix it. I want to be out of the chair sometimes and try to do things, but I don’t want to go against you.”

  Westcott laid the book aside and took her hands. “Sarah, I want what is best for you. I was frightened when I saw you on Polly. Perhaps if I had not been so shocked, I might have been more understanding. I hope so. What I cannot perceive of is why you kept this a secret? However I feel about it, this is a major change in our lives, and I very much regret you felt unable to share it with me.”

  Sarah rubbed the back of his hand against her cheek. “I am really sorry, Papa. At first, I did not want anyone to know in case I failed.” Her voice dropped and she hung her head. “And I was afraid you would forbid it.”

  “Sarah, my dear.” Westcott leaned over, lifted her onto his lap, and kissed the top of her head. Her hair held the same fragrance as Anne’s, along with the girl-child scent he associated with his daughter. She is growing up, Westcott. You are no longer the center of her world, and haven’t been since she went to stay at Lynton Hall. In a few years she will be a young woman, with even more interests. No putting the genie back in the bottle now. Anne has a lot to answer for, however. “I may have done,” he said “Although I expect you and Anne would have persuaded me otherwise.” He put a finger under her chin and raised her head

  “I will not try to stop you from your adventures, Sarah, but there are going to be some rules I expect to have followed. First and foremost, you are not to go about on those crutches when you are alone. For the time being, I don’t want you using them outdoors. The pony….” He touched a finger to her lips when she opened her mouth to protest. “The pony will come when I feel you are ready, and I am with you. Are you agreeable to these terms?”

  Sarah wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. “Oh, yes. Thank you, Papa.” She loosened her grip and leaned back to look up at him with a mischievous smile. “Since you are here, will you escort me to the schoolroom?”

  “Yes, I will, imp.” He smiled, put her down, stood, and handed her the crutches. She had a routine established, he realized, watching as she eased from the seat onto her sound leg, and using one stick as a brace, carefully placed the rests under her arms. Once satisfied, she looked up and grinned.

  “I cannot go very fast but you won’t mind that.”

  “No, I don’t mind.” He stayed ready to catch her but her gait was smooth and the short walk to the schoolroom was easily traversed.

  Sarah halted at the doorway and looked anxiously at him. “Mother Anne wanted to tell you before I tried sitting on Polly, but I begged her not to. Please don’t be mad at her.”

  “That is between Anne and me, Sarah, and not something I will discuss with you. Go on, now. I believe your dinner is waiting and I have things to do.”

  Her smile was uncertain, but she knew that tone of voice too well to argue. “Good night, Papa.”

  “Good night.” He opened the door for her, looked inside to see that the other habitants of the schoolroom were indeed waiting at table for her, and watched until she was seated among them before closing the door. He felt drained after the eventful day, and the half-hearted impulse to seek out Anne was easily dismissed. In all likelihood she wanted nothing to do with him at the moment and what would he say? What did he want to say? Just thinking about her raised a whirlpool of emotion, thoughts, desires. No, the problem of Anne needed a great deal more of his attention than he was able to devote to it tonight.

  ~* * *~

  Two hours after she locked herself in her room Anne was no closer to an answer. It did matter, certainly, the question of Nicholas’ feelings for her. She was no different than any other woman in desiring affection from her husband, and it had led to reading more into their lovemaking than Westcott ever intended. Her fault; he had never pretended otherwise. “You will have to live with it,” she muttered to the drawn, pale reflection staring back at her accusingly.

  You will not abandon these children and where would you go? You agreed to it and you are stuck with it. Besides, if the Major is responsible for these attempts on Westcott’s life, it is entirely your fault, so if for nothing else, you owe him for that.

  Anne unlocked the door when a faint scratch at the door interrupted her gloomy thoughts. Clara was no doubt in a tizzy by now and word of the argument with the viscount will have already swept through the house, which she supposed should bother her, but she had more important things to consider just now.

  “Bring me a light meal, Clara, and send word to the schoolroom I have the headache and plan to retire early.” Cowardly, but she did not feel up to discussion of today’s fiasco. She would write Sarah a note, and Danielle, who must be similarly distressed. She hoped Westcott had said something to the girl to ease her mind, but doubted he had thought of it. Why should he, when he had a murderer on his mind, along with a wayward daughter and wife? Which reminded her that she had not found out what he had discovered today, if anything. Martin might know and she was tempted to summon him to answer her questions.

  No, it will lead to more speculation among the staff, since it is something Westcott should have told you. In the middle of an argument? The picture of stopping their heated discussion to ask how his day went was idiotic enough to make her smile—faintly, but a smile nonetheless. Probably he had nothing to report in any case. He can tell you in the morning. If the man is even speaking to you!

  Chapter Thirty-two

  The consequence of tossing and turning much of the night was waking later than usual, heavy-eyed and out of sorts. Anne had never heard Clara come in with her morning chocolate, now cold and skimmed with an unappetizing film. Why hadn’t the girl awakened her? Anne threw aside the covers and rang the little bell sitting on the bedside table, annoyed by the realization she had come to expect being waited upon.

  “You are not helpless,” she muttered and went to wash.

  Clara rushed in just as she finished, with a fresh pot of chocolate. “Oh, I am sorry, my lady. I’ll just put the tray on the table and lay out your clothes, as quick as can be.”

  Lured by the sweet aroma, Anne walked over and poured a cup of the steaming beverage. She stared out the window as she sipped at it, half-listening to the maid busy behind her.

  “Would you like breakfast here, my lady?”

  Clara’s voice intruded, and Anne reluctantly turned from the view to consider. First the children, then Westcott, if he was available. No, she preferred to delay that interview as long as possible. Perhaps she might drive over to Lynton Hall. Anne needed her friend’s advice—a woman’s advice, and she would not burden Maggie with her problems. Not this problem, anyway.

  “Just some toast, Clara.” Anne glanced at the dress laid out on the bed. “No, not that gown. One of the walking dresses, please, in case I decide to call on Lady Lynton. Is Lord Westcott in?”

  “No, my lady. I believe he left early this morning for Winchester.”

  Surprised at his destination, but not displeased by his absence, Anne returned to t
he window to wait for her breakfast. She had to think, but felt concentration beyond her at the moment. Don’t dwell on it. Face one thing at a time and the rest may make sense. You need to talk to Sarah before anything else.

  She ate her toast in silence, patiently allowed Clara to help her dress and arrange her hair, and dismissing the maid, pinched some colour into her pale cheeks.

  Sarah and Miss Caxton were alone in the schoolroom—another surprise—as Danielle was usually at Sarah’s side.

  “Good morning, Sarah. Miss Caxton.”

  “Madam.”

  “Good morning,” Sarah said with a cheerful smile. Her chair was pulled up to a table, a number of books open in front of her.

  Anne kissed the child’s cheek and sat beside her. “What are you studying?”

  “There is a nest in the apple tree in my garden and I wanted to know more about the birds.” She turned one of the books to show Anne a picture. “It is an English robin. We have never had one build a nest in the garden. I think we may be able to see the babies when they hatch,” she added with evident satisfaction.

  “If not see, then certainly you will hear them,” Anne said with a laugh. “They are noisy little creatures when they are hungry.” She looked at Miss Caxton, and with a little turn of her head toward the door, tried to relay a request for her to give them some time alone. A successful ploy, it seemed, as the quick-witted governess rose at once.

  “If you will excuse me, I believe I noticed another book in the library we may find of interest,” she said, and left them.

  “After yesterday I expected to find you cast down,” Anne said, brushing Sarah’s hair off her forehead. “Does this mean you and your father are no longer at odds?”

  Sarah caught Anne’s hand in hers. “I am sorry I talked you into keeping it a secret so long. Papa was so sad I did not tell him. He was angry about the pony, and my going about on the crutches, but not so much as he was sad. I wish I had listened to you.”

  “I wish I had stood firm and insisted,” Anne said with a rueful smile. “We are both at fault, but mine the more grievous, as I am the adult and should know better. Westcott has not forbidden you to continue then?”

  “Oh no,” Sarah said quickly, “although I don’t think he likes it exactly.”

  “I venture to say he will become more accustomed over time.” Her heart a little lighter at this outcome—yet another surprise, and hopefully the last, she stood.

  “I must go. Where is Danielle, Sarah? Has she no interest in the birds?”

  Sarah’s smile faded and she clung to Anne’s hand a moment longer. “Danielle went for a walk. She thinks Papa was angry with her, too. I told her he was not, but I am not sure she believes it. She has been gone an awfully long time, Mother Anne. I wish you will find her.”

  Anne smiled. “I will try. Now here is Miss Caxton to continue your studies. I will return later this afternoon for your music lesson.” She hurried out and ran downstairs in time to see Martin place a letter on the refectory table. “Has the post come already, Martin?”

  “No, Madam. This letter was just delivered by a boy from the village, for you.” Martin held up the tray. “Mr. Fenton has asked to see you, my lady. He is waiting in the steward’s office.”

  Anne picked up the letter, glanced at the direction, and not recognizing the handwriting, slipped it into her pocket to look at later. Whatever Martin thought of her unusual relationship with the Fentons, he knew by now they were always a priority with her. Neither Maggie nor Bill took advantage. Indeed, she did not recall that Bill had ever come to the house to see her.

  The steward’s office lay at the far end of the west wing and had an outside entrance. Bill stood on the threshold of the doorway, looking over the huge kitchen garden. Though not cold, the sky was overcast. Anne knew Bill preferred to be outdoors, whatever the weather, and she suggested they walk through the garden as they talked.

  “You haven’t a hat, my lady.”

  “There is no sun, and I don’t suppose we will be long. You will want to return to your horses and I’ve yet to speak with Cook this morning.” Anne tucked her arm under his and coaxed him along. “Now what brings you here? I hope you are not concerned about yesterday,” she said, frowning. “Did Westcott take you to task?”

  “No, he did not so much as mention it, but will get around to it, I reckon.”

  Since he sounded indifferent, Anne let it drop. “What then?”

  Bill halted and half-turned to look sternly at her. “Lord Westcott did find that two men have been staying at that vacant house and is certain it is the Major and Meraux. You need to take care and not go off the grounds, nor go anywhere alone.”

  “I am sure he would not have nerve enough to accost me here! It is Westcott who needs protection.” Suddenly sick with fear for Nicholas, Anne clutched at Bill’s arm. “Please tell me he did not go alone to Winchester.”

  Bill patted her hand, much as he did when she was a child, and the familiar sign of affection brought a lump to her throat. “His lordship drove and took two of the grooms with him. It’s you he is worried about so you need mind what he said.”

  Anne swallowed, somewhat relieved, but all the men in the world could not stop a bullet. “Westcott wants me to be careful?” she said, when she realized what was behind Bill’s orders. “When did you see him, Bill?”

  “He called me in last night to tell me what they’d found out, him and Lord Lynton, and I was to tell you and make sure you stayed safe.”

  “I see.” Even after that horrid scene he had been concerned for her? Gracious, Anne. Why are you surprised? You cannot imagine Nicholas would be otherwise, no matter his anger. You know how protective he is.

  Bill gave her hand a final pat and stepped back. “Everyone’s on the watch so don’t be worrying too much. Lord Westcott will see to the Major. Go in now. I’ve got to get on.”

  “Yes, of course.” Anne waited until he disappeared around a corner before walking slowly toward the house, only becoming aware of her surroundings when her skirts brushed a clump of tansy. The sharp odor of the herb tickled her nose, reminding her of Danielle, who just recently had mentioned her mother’s use of the plant to preserve clothing. The girl must certainly have returned from her walk by now. She would ask Martin if he had seen her, after she had consulted with Cook and read her almost forgotten letter.

  An odd sort of missive, she thought, curious now, as the note was simply folded and sealed with a dab of wax. Pausing by one of the window embrasures that graced the long passageway, she sat on the wide sill.

  The opening lines literally knocked the air from her lungs. Dear sweet heaven, not Danielle, not that poor child. She wheezed in a gulp of air and read the short directive with growing horror. The Major and Meraux had Danielle! If she wanted to see the girl again, she was to come alone to a designated place. Today. He, the Major, would consider an exchange—Danielle for Anne. She was to tell no one.

  “I won’t miss a third time, dear Anne. The bastard deserves to die for taking you from me.”

  Slowly, Anne crumpled the note in her hand and struggled to her feet, fighting the nausea that gripped her. She had to decide what to do. You have no choice but to go. You are not a helpless maid anymore. Think! Don’t just run stupidly into this trap.

  She dared not involve anyone else, and risk Danielle’s safety, or Nicholas’. The Major had no reason to harm the girl but being put in Meraux’s hands was unthinkable and Nicholas dead? No! Anne leaned against the wall, willing her heart to steady and her mind to clear, burying the fear deep inside.

  First, she must see Cook, since it was expected of her. Then decide how to evade Bill and the other men and be gone before Nicholas returned. She had to go alone, and she would never be able to hide this from him.

  Amazed at her playacting, Anne met with Cook in a perfectly normal manner. Then, equally astonished at her daring, she went to the gunroom. She was never comfortable with weapons, but her father had insisted she learn to at le
ast load and fire a pistol. What she needed now was something small enough to hide in the pocket of her cloak. Whether she would have the need to use it, or even could use it, was uncertain, but having it made her feel less helpless. Reynald was the villain here, and she would shoot him if that’s what it took to protect her family.

  For all the supposed watchfulness of the staff, it proved unexpectedly easy to escape the grounds unnoticed, which in all likelihood had more to do with their trust in her not to wander heedlessly than lack of vigilance.

  Early though she was, a closed carriage waited on the lane edging the field she had to cross to reach the appointed meeting place. A burly, disreputable looking man sat on the box and the unmistakable broad shoulders and blond hair of Major Reynard identified the man standing by the vehicle. The horrible memory of his heavy body holding her down swept over her and for a second she wavered. If you allow him to see your fear he will use it as a weapon. Stand up to him! Wishing the bracing words would quiet her hammering heart, Anne wiped every expression from her face. He was smiling, damn the man, and his triumphant smirk did more to stiffen her spine than her inner admonitions.

  “Major.”

  “I am so pleased to see you, Anne dear, and so promptly, too,” he purred, flipping back the hood of her cloak. His meaty hand gripped her chin in a painful hold and turned her face from side to side. “Tsk, tsk, I see you are not looking your best. Much too thin. I prefer my women a bit more rounded, but we’ll soon get you fattened up. I plan to take very good care of you.” He laughed, moved his hands to her waist and half-threw her into the carriage. “Get moving, Grant,” he ordered, climbing in after her and closing the door.

  Anne managed to brace her arms against the cushions, avoiding the sprawl he’d intended, and twisted to face him. With pretended calm, she rearranged her skirts and cloak, the pistol a reassuring lump beside her leg. Heaven help her if it went off accidentally and she shot herself in the foot! Swallowing a hysterical giggle, she endured his avid scrutiny without flinching, although the hot hunger in his eyes threatened to make her ill.