Lewis left the two women and went to hail a hackney. He could have sent Putnam, but he needed a few minutes alone to catch his breath. To reflect on what had just happened.
What in God’s precious name had he done? He’d fallen in love with her. You stupid bloody sod.
She had put herself beyond his touch almost before he met her, ruined any chance they might have had by ruining herself. Yet despite the evidence of that fact staring him in the face, when he saw her haunted, unhappy face… When her somber, unsuspecting eyes widened in recognition, then glazed over with shock… And worst of all, when she pulled out that brave, wavering smile from someplace he couldn’t imagine… Yes, that was when it happened.
It was fake, he knew that. But he had taught her that smile, and she remembered. Had wanted him to know she remembered.
He was lost, for once and forever, for good or for ill.
He had to traipse nearly back to Briggate before he found a hackney. By the time they stopped in front of the library, Lewis half expected to find Anna gone, lost again in the maze of overcrowded streets. He still didn’t know where she was staying, though he could narrow it down. She’d said two blocks, assuming she was telling the truth. Now that he knew what name she was using, and had an ally in Putnam, he could find her.
If she’d run off, wouldn’t that be a good thing? How much effort should he expend helping someone who didn’t want his help? His father would think him utterly daft for trying at all. Which only increased Lewis’s determination to do so.
He took the stairs two at a time and burst through the library doors, missing an elderly woman by inches. His apology hung in the air as he sketched a bow, turned on his heel, and rushed to the office.
A hinge creaked as he pushed the door wide. Both women gaped at him, then Putnam sent Anna a smug look that said I told you so.
“The hackney’s waiting. I’m sorry it took so long.”
“’Tis no problem at all, Mr. Aubrey,” Putnam said. “You will come and join us for tea, won’t you?”
Anna, her cheeks flaming, said, “Putnam!” The maid, issuing invitations over her mistress’s objections? Well, he wasn’t about to refuse. They needed someplace private to talk.
“Now, Mrs. Stanley, it’s only polite. Come, we mustn’t keep the horses waiting. Give her your arm, Mr. Aubrey…”
Putnam rattled on, more like a garrulous aunt than a maidservant. Or like Maggs calming his patient.
Lewis reached out a hand. It might have been a snake, the way Anna stared at it, but she took hold and he pulled her upright. Before she could withdraw, he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and followed Putnam from the room.
No doubt she chafed at his intrusion. He might be a cur for pushing her, but he wouldn’t be leaving until he had the confirmations he’d come for.
First, that Gideon was the father of her child.
Second, whether he had forced or seduced her.
Third, and most important of all, that she was safe. Safe from slipping on the ice, safely delivered, and safe at home with her parents. He would spend every penny he had, every ounce of energy, every minute of his time to make sure she was safe. He would do it as unobtrusively as possible, and still she would resent him for it. But do it he would.
The short ride went quietly. Once Lewis overruled Putnam’s intention to take the rear-facing seat, her stream of chit-chat faded to an occasional comment about something outside. In between, she chewed on her lower lip as though nervous. Maybe that explained her runaway tongue as well. Anna said nothing at all. Her hood shielded most of her face.
They drove to Briggate and crossed into Kirkgate before turning up Vicar Lane. There, tucked into an alley a stone’s throw from the vicar’s garden wall, the driver stopped.
Three stories of old brick in need of new mortar, paint peeling from the wooden trim work, windows dirty and several of them cracked. Either the nightsoil men hadn’t done their job here or the alley’s residents had been very busy this morning making more. Still, it was a damned sight better than some of those warrens off Briggate.
In the grubby stairwell it was more of the same, but without the benefit of freezing temperatures to keep the smells at bay. Mutton grease misted the air, battling for supremacy with the acrid smell of urine.
Putnam led the way. Lewis could offer Anna no assistance, the stairs were too narrow. The best he could do was follow her up the well-worn treads and hope to catch her if she fell. She made slow progress, hauling her bulk up each step. The banister wobbled—would it hold?
More stairs led up to the next floor and a dark, narrow corridor wound left and around a corner, but Putnam awaited them in one of the doorways off the landing. She closed the door as they passed through it, shutting off most of the odor.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Anna said, without a glance in his direction. Then, “Come please, Putnam,” before disappearing through another door. Did she think she could avoid the coming interview? For all that he pitied her, he must have his answers.
Putnam headed first for the ludicrously inadequate fireplace, added some coal and stirred it with the poker. She swung the iron arm over the fire and came to his side. Her teeth were busy at her lower lip again.
“She’ll need a few minutes to tidy up. We’re in her black books at the moment, but I’ll bring her up to scratch, I promise. I’ll be back directly and get you that tea.” She followed her mistress, closing the door behind her.
Left alone, there was little enough to occupy him. Lord, how shabby! If this was the parlor, the bedchambers must be mere closets. As humdrum a place as he could imagine. At least someone kept it tidy, the floor swept clean.
Lewis wandered to the single narrow window overlooking the alley. The brick wall opposite stood barely six feet away, with Vicar Lane off to the left. Even on this sunny day the light was poor. A plain wooden chair had been placed to make the most of what there was, but under cloudy skies it would be nigh impossible to read or sew. Nevertheless, a book stood upright on the sill, leaning against the glass. Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage.
Perhaps ten minutes passed. Steam rose from the kettle. A child cried coming up the stairs, reached its maximum volume on the landing, and continued up to the floor above. A scrawny mongrel trapped a rat behind some crates in the alley. Lewis watched it nose around, pawing at the debris and barking periodically. Then it lost the scent. It cast about aimlessly, across the alley and back again. Giving up, it plodded out into the street and disappeared.
Poor fellow. A fruitless search, rather like his own. He had found Anna. But if she was determined to fight him, there was little he could do for her.
Anna sat quietly while Putnam pulled off the matron’s cap she wore in her role as Mrs. Stanley. Not that it made her feel matronly, but it served well enough for the clerks at the library, the greengrocer, the Rose and Crown.
She had created an entire history for Mrs. Stanley during the long drive north to Leeds. She too was named Anna, and she too would shortly give birth to a fatherless child. Otherwise they had little in common.
Mrs. Stanley’s husband had been a sailor, buried in the cold waters of the Atlantic on a return voyage from Charleston. A serious man but capable of impetuous nonsense and affection. Despite the long separations, he’d been unerringly faithful. Anna knew it because…well, because she had created him. She called him Lochinvar because he had risked his life for love, sailing the ocean to support them both. Most important of all, she knew no real man to sully the name.
Mr. Stanley’s family lived in Bristol—there must be some excuse for the mail that would come from there—but with him gone, Mrs. Stanley and her maid had returned to their own hometown. Only Leeds did not feel like home, not to Anna.
Putnam twirled a curl into place on Anna’s forehead. She reached for the wretched cap but seemed to change her mind.
“It’s soiled, miss. You’ll have to do without.”
Anna stilled her fingers, torturing each other as they twined in her lap.
“How could you write that note, Putnam? Have we not talked about how disastrous it would be if we were found?” Anna was too tired for anger. It would do no good now, in any case; the deed was done. Besides that, Lewis would hear.
“I had to do something. Sir John knows, and when I saw Mr. Aubrey at St. Peter’s I just knew he was searching for you. Can’t make it any worse, Miss Anna.”
“But it does, Putnam, don’t you see? It puts me in an impossible situation.” Gooseflesh prickled on her arms with the agonizing awareness of his presence in the next room. She lowered her voice. “It puts him in an impossible situation.”
“The whole thing is impossible, Miss Anna. But in case you’ve forgotten, there’s someone else to think of too.”
Anna said nothing, hoping to further postpone the conversation she had stubbornly avoided.
The broadening of Putnam’s Yorkshire accent marked the extent of her anguish. “It just tears me up inside to think o’ that wee bairn growin’ inside ye, comin’ into this world an orphan, no one to care about ’im.”
Anna couldn’t think about that. “We haven’t time for this. You’d best get out there and talk to him while I finish here. He’ll be thinking we’ve climbed out the window.” Another subject for the cartoonists.
Putnam blew her nose. She collected Anna’s cloak and carried it with her to hang in the other room.
Anna sank onto the bed. She squeezed her eyes and lips tight, put her hands over her ears, closing off her senses. She didn’t want to think about the baby. She didn’t want to think at all.
But Lewis was on the other side of that door, waiting for her. What on earth would she say to him?
The truth would hurt. The truth was unthinkable.
Yet anything else would be worse. He was the gentlest, kindest man she had ever met. She would not repay his kindness with lies.
The truth, then, but as little of it as she could manage. She would await his questions, and answer with as few words as possible. It would be best if he thought she disliked him. He would be more likely to go away and leave her alone with her shame. Yes, that would be best for both of us.
Before the tears could fall, she stood as straight as she could, leaning back to balance the weight in front. She drew her fingers down from forehead to chin, leaving a wooden mask behind them. Not a smile, no—he would see through that in a heartbeat. Something cool and expressionless. Something daunting and unapproachable.
God help us both.
Anna heard Lewis’s voice as she opened the bedchamber door, but it stopped immediately. He and Putnam stood by the fireplace, quite close to each other, as though sharing secrets. Secrets about her, no doubt.
He spun on his heel, nothing to be seen in his expression but pleasure to see her. No contempt, no guile. No remote resemblance to Gideon. No reason at all for the tears that burned her eyes.
His lips parted, ready to resume his conversation with Putnam or to greet Anna herself. Then a flinch, no more than a pucker of the skin around his eyes, a twitch of his brow. Shock.
She couldn’t fault him for that. It was his first sight of her without that appalling cloak. Oh, the garment served its purpose. It was warm, and it could hide a variety of sins. Not mine, though. Not anymore.
He’d tried to hide his thoughts, but she knew how she appeared. Her gown was a sack in a hideous shade of green, made high to the neck with a simple drawstring beneath the breasts. The cheap, coarse wool made it warm, but also bulky. They’d found it at one of the rag shops.
She had almost asked Putnam to apply a little rouge to her cheeks. But why? There was no earthly reason for pretense. The ugliness of her pregnancy should drive him away, whether she showed him cordiality or dislike. Dislike would be pretense of a different sort. If she wasn’t going to pretend…
“Mr. Aubrey,” she murmured as she lumbered forward to shake his hand, pushing her belly in front of her.
She must pretend. What she could not show him was weakness. Fear. Need. Because if he saw those things, he would never go away. And if he didn’t go away, he would find himself trying to reassemble the million pieces of her scattered across the floor.
He shook her hand but seemed to have trouble letting go of it afterward. His touch felt warm, human. The baby kicked.
“Miss Spain. I owe you an apology for surprising you in the library. Putnam has been chastising me for not waiting until you’d reached someplace more private and she could—”
He was nervous, as he’d been in London. It was touching, and sad. He had liked her then. But she’d had nothing to give him, and now she had less. Her heart was free, but it was empty.
“No matter.” Anna pulled her hand away. The ice in her fingertips, which had receded slightly in his grip, crept back. “The shock would have been equal in any case. Though I am glad I did not quite faint.”
“Heavens, yes. Please, sit down.” He led her to the sofa and sat beside her.
She held her hands out toward the fire and he jumped up again. “You’re cold.” In three strides he’d retrieved his greatcoat from its hook by the door, in another three he was back again.
He hesitated. She had no lap to cover with it, and he was probably worried that he’d touch her belly or breasts if he tried. Quashing an hysterical urge to giggle, she took the coat from his hands and draped it nearly to her neck, covering all those forbidden parts.
Did he remember that other occasion, following their visit to Green Park, when it rained and he gave her his coat? It had been warm from his body. It was not warm now, but the weight of it comforted her, protected her.
Lewis resumed his seat but rose yet again to take the cup of tea Putnam held out to him. She moved a rickety little table to the front of the sofa, within easy reach for both of them, and set the tea things on top.
“Anna takes a bit of sugar, Mr. Aubrey. I’ll go downstairs and see if I can find some biscuits.”
Frowning, Lewis watched her leave. He put a spoonful of sugar in Anna’s tea. “Does she take good care of you? You shouldn’t be walking in this weather. And the fireplace! These rooms are utterly inadequate.”
Anna let the coat drop beneath her arms so she could take her cup. “They serve us well enough, and the rent is right. The building belongs to Putnam’s cousin.”
“And leaving you alone like this. I don’t like it.”
“I’m not alone, and no one could think I need a chaperone anymore.” She managed a laugh, but his face reflected no semblance of amusement.
The tea gave her an excuse to look down. “Please sit, Mr. Aubrey. It hurts to crane my neck.”
He sat on the very edge of the sofa, angled toward her, holding his teacup on one knee. Now it begins.
“Why did you not tell me, Anna? I could have… Surely you knew I would…”
Had he lost his mind? “What would you have done? You had poor Mr. Wedbury to worry about. Besides that, it was neither your responsibility nor your business.”
“I certainly felt responsible,” he muttered.
“I know you did.” She reached out and touched his sleeve. “You were so sweet to me.”
“I would have stood beside you when you faced your family. You must have had an uncomfortable summer.”
Uncomfortable? She laughed again, bitter and tight. “You should thank God you were not there. My mother had already done her best to trap you. Don’t you remember the last time you came to see me in London? How she fawned and cooed over you? She all but said the words for you.”
His jaw clenched. “I remember.”
“That’s why I was so rude. I hated taking leave of you that way, knowing it would be the last time I saw you, but I could not bear that you should be deceived that way, unaware that I…unaware of what I’d done.”
Lewis stared down at his untasted tea as though he’d forgotten it was there. He set the cup on the table. “It never occurred to me that my brother might go so far. He’d been in trouble over women before, but not ladies of quality, not innocents. It still seems incredible that he could—”
Leaning his elbows on his knees and gripping his hands together, he turned his anguished gaze toward her again. “It was Gideon, wasn’t it?”
Anger jolted through her, sloshing tea out of the cup, out of the saucer and onto his greatcoat. “I cannot believe you’re asking me that!”
He leaped to his feet, pacing round and round the sofa, in and out of her view. She longed to do the same, or to march into her room and slam the door. But it would take five minutes of huffing and puffing merely to get out of her seat.
“I know,” he said. “I’m sorry. But people kept suggesting—”
She struggled to sit upright and slammed her own cup down, spilling more tea on the table. His coat slithered to the floor. “People? What people? Does all of Yorkshire know of my predicament? My sin?”
“Of course not.” He stopped in front of her, glaring down. “Only Sir John, and my vicar. Don’t you know me well enough to—”
“I’d have thought you knew me better than to ask such a question!”
“I did.” He drooped, sinking onto the sofa and digging his fingers into his hair, too long as always. “I do.”
Anna’s anger evaporated. She collapsed again, leaning into the worn cushion behind her. God, I’m tired.
But it wasn’t over. She had to strain to hear him when he said, without looking up, “Did he force you?”
The truth was so stupid, so humiliating. She had decided, though, that only the truth would do.
“No.” Her voice was no louder than his. “It shames me to say it, but no.”
He rose again and wandered to the window. He stood calmly enough, his hands clasped behind him. But she’d caught a glimpse of his expression, and she didn’t think he was calm at all.
“He talked so prettily. He recited poetry—‘There be none of Beauty’s daughters With a magic like thee.’ It’s Lord Byron—do you know it? And more in the same vein.” Be quiet, Anna. You’re to say as little as possible, remember? She clamped her mouth shut.
“Did he promise marriage?”
She shook her head, but he wasn’t watching. “No.” Oh, it sounded stark. She couldn’t let him think she’d been so wanton, so reckless. “Not in so many words. But he… He talked about your father’s estate and he painted such a picture of the place, like Longleat House, or…or Chatsworth.”
Lewis made a rude sound like a snorting horse. “If it sounded like Chatsworth, it was fiction.”
“Was it? I didn’t know.”
“How would you?” He turned toward her, stiff and somber, but did not approach.
Oh, how she wanted him to understand! She rushed on. “He told me how much I would love it there. The formal gardens, the wood, the waterfall. He said he would hire Lawrence to paint my portrait in the rose arbor. He said…”
She peered at Lewis, shaking his head, his expression wintry.
“All lies?” Her voice was a squeak.
He waved one hand in dismissal, wandering back toward the sofa. “Oh, we have a small wood, and a couple of rose bushes. And the Wrackwater divides our property from the Wedburys’. When it’s in spate, it rushes over the rocks and looks a bit like a waterfall.”
There was a long silence. She shivered and hauled his greatcoat up again to cover her arms. If she’d been alone, she would have hidden her head as well. It smelled like him, safe and warm.
“I wanted so badly to believe.” Later there would be tears, but for now she had none.
Standing behind her, he rested a hand on her shoulder. “We need to believe, Anna. It’s human nature.” His voice was almost as quiet, almost as shaky as her own. “And Gideon is an expert at deception. You had no reason to doubt him.”
Anna said nothing, and after a moment the hand withdrew.
Lewis walked around the sofa and worked the coals toward the center of the fire, adding more around the edges from the half-empty bucket. Such a tranquil, domestic scene. But the emotions running through it were all wrong.
He did not look at her. However kind his words might be, however gentle his voice, her revelations this day had surely destroyed his respect for her.
With a click of the latch and a creak of the hinges, the door opened and Putnam came in. Thank God, an end to this appalling tête-a-tête. Within a remarkably short time, Lewis was gone.